Dwarf Gold (The Sobriety of Hemery Skinner)
by Vargavinter
Summary: SEQUEL to Dwarf Gold (The Cautiousness of Hanah Skinner). When Hemery returns to Erebor after five years of studying with the scholars of Minas Tirith, she finds that much has changed. The king demands her presence at court while her sister wants her to go to Blackwater to finish some old business. Hemery just wants to do the right thing. Warning for violence and sexual scenes.
1. Chapter 1 - Unexpected Silence

At twenty-one, Hemery returns to Erebor after five years in Minas Tirith. How will she adapt to the changes that have occurred in her absence?

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><p>Chapter 1 – Unexpected Silence<p>

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><p><em>Dear Thorin,<em>

_Kíli, Bofur, and Bifur arrived yesterday. They were very excited to join Dwalin and me in time for my birthday and share my last year in Minas Tirith. Last night, I showed them my favourite parts of the city, and they showed me how to drink a pint without stopping for breath. Needless to say, I have spent all day in my room, emptying my stomach. It is now late, and I have just managed to drink some sweet tea._

_Tirith is celebrating the New Year. There are festivities and fireworks. I see it all from my window, and I can hear the music when I go to sleep. Kíli and Bofur have come in very late three nights in a row, making the most of it, so to speak. I do not wish to know any details of their nocturnal adventures, though they are more than generous with their reply if I should, naively and unthinkingly, ask. Dwalin refuses to celebrate. He wonders why we should cheer their new year if they do not cheer ours. Logical as always. He is determined to dislike Tirith, as well as any friends or fellow students I introduce him to. I plan to celebrate the elvish New Year, just to tick him off. Even your own aversion to elves would be overlooked to enjoy the purple shade on his face at that. _

_Though he cannot deny he enjoys the food here. I do too; it is visible now that I do not train as often as I used to. He misses the mountain. I do too._

_Kindly write and tell me how boring it is in Erebor, that nothing out of the ordinary occurs, and how aggravating you find everything._

_I am sure you find the mountain calm and peaceful now that I am gone._

_Hemery_

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><p><em>Dear Thorin,<em>

_I am preparing my final assignment. It takes up a lot of my time, even more than the hours I spend at the academy halls. I have not been able to accompany Dwalin on any hikes or fishing trips for some time. He says he does not mind, but I can tell it bothers him. He goes on his own instead, not even letting Bifur come along. _

_There was a gathering at the university in honour of the pupils who have completed their studies this year. All the students as well as our instructors were invited. It was mostly men present, which made me uncomfortable for some reason. At the social gatherings at Erebor there were always a lot of females. Here it was plenty of wine and silly boisterous talk, and I do not mean in a fun way like Kíli does it in the taverns. _

_I enjoy the studies immensely, and the lecturers are brilliant, but scholars are tedious and exhausting. They cannot abandon their impressing important voice for longer than it takes to swallow more wine. Now that I think about it, they are not so much different from you._

_Will you answer and express your disagreement?_

_Hemery_

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><p><em>Dear Thorin,<em>

_I cannot sleep. The moon lights the path of my pen as I write this. I present my finished work tomorrow. Sleep does not elude me because of some misplaced sense of uncertainty. I have done well here. My project is of great importance to me, though I doubt you will approve of it. The official approval of the academy is merely a dribble of wax on parchment for anyone outside this kingdom, but I shall keep it for myself if nothing else. To look at my name in golden letters and consider myself lucky for being able to make this journey._

_After I have been evaluated, I will return to the mountain. I fear it is changed, as much as rock can change over the course of five years, or perhaps rather that I am changed, but it will be a relief to see the Lonely Mountain, nonetheless. Except the thanks I owe Fíli for the gold he spent on my education, which will be a painful conversation._

_Hanah tells me that she knows for a fact that you receive my letters. More than that she cannot say. I know you are always occupied with stately business and enjoy your own time in undisturbed solitude whenever your duty allows it, but I must send a question out into the starry night––for I believe it will not matter once I return, and I shall probably not receive any sort of reply before then. _

_Thorin, why have you not written to me?_

_Hemery_


	2. Chapter 2 - Unexpected Return

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: Vanafindiel, dragynfyre18, FeeKilico, sarah0406, Saphira113, Undertaker's Wife, hizzle27, belladu57, Skywolf42, Wynni, DanaFruit, Guest, and jackiez32!

Song inspired by Gjallarhorn – Konungen och Trollkvinnan

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><p>Chapter 2 – Unexpected Return<p>

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><p>The autumn sun hung low over the plains as Hemery, Dwalin, Kíli, and the others reached the Lonely Mountain. Almost three weeks had passed since they left Minas Tirith, but the trip had been enjoyable, if uneventful. They had followed a caravan of traders making their trip north to Esgaroth. Such a large group, between fifty and seventy people on horseback, were fairly safe on the big roads. They had often stopped in villages on the way, sleeping comfortably on feather beds at the inns and eating well in the taverns. But Hemery had barely taken the time to appreciate it. She was too keen on going home to the mountain.<p>

They must have been spotted from Erebor because when they reached the first hall, everyone was waiting for them.

Almost everyone.

Hemery noticed Hanah first. Next to her stood a girl almost half Hanah's size, Híli, and Fíli next to his daughter. Lady Dis and Sethie had also come down to greet them.

Not bothering with polite greetings, Hanah rushed forward to embrace her little sister. Hemery, weighed down by some bags, dropped everything and met her with open arms. Hanah's arms were almost painfully tight. Hemery drew a deep breath. Her sister's scent was reminiscent of the one filling her room in Tirith, but it had been a pale imitation of the real thing. All her homesickness, how much she had missed Hanah, came rushing back after five years of suppression, bringing tears to her eyes.

Hemery was faintly aware of Fíli meeting his brother in a similar fashion a few feet away.

Hanah pulled back first, avoiding her eyes for a moment, and speaking with a low tremble.

"Let me take that," she said. Hanah reached out to help Hemery carry one of her bags.

"Oh, no, don't," Hem said. "I've been on a horse all day. I need to move a bit."

Fíli came up to them. "Leave it," he said, beckoning some guards with his hand. "Everything will be brought to your chambers."

"Sethie," Hem called, smiling widely at seeing the dwarf woman approach. Sethie did not hesitate in hugging Hemery after such a long time apart.

Behind Sethie, Híli stood quietly. Spotting her, Hemery gasped in feigned surprise.

"Is this the princess? An heir of Durin? The cleverest and strongest of them all?" She lowered herself on one knee as Híli came closer. The child was shy, but a smile tugged at her mouth.

Though Híli was about to see her ninth winter, Hem's eyes were almost level with hers as she kneeled. As a half-dwarf, Híli grew slowly.

"I'm not a complete stranger, surely. But you were awfully small when I saw you last. Not at all the elegant person standin' before me now," Hem said.

Híli straightened a bit at the praise.

"How old are you?" Hem asked.

The child looked up at her mother, but Hanah merely nodded in encouragement.

"How old are_ you_?" Híli asked in return, making Hemery laugh.

"Fair enough," Hem said. "I know better than to expect somethin' for nothin'. I'm a very old woman. Almost as old as your ma," she said in faked horror.

Híli smiled shyly.

"I'm twice your age, plus five. How much is that?" Hem asked.

She watched as Híli looked down a moment, whispering quickly to herself and tried to hide that she counted on her fingers.

"One and twenty," Híli finally said softly.

"Very good," Hem said. "Your mother and father must be very proud of you."

Híli looked up at Hanah and Fíli before she met Hem's gaze once more, nodding. Hem felt her eyes burn again.

"I'm sorry I've been away for so long," Hem said low, only to Híli. She clasped her hands on top of her bent knee as she leaned forward. "It's so wonderful to see you again."

Not sure if Híli would appreciate a hug, and not wanting to force the child into a physical situation with a stranger, Hem reached out her hand for Híli to shake. She knew the girl had learnt this dwarven custom early.

Híli accepted Hemery's hand, bowing her head slightly as she curtsied. Hem's heart clenched.

"Oh, you never have to bow to me. You don't need to bow to anyone," Hem said. "Well, except maybe the king," she added.

Híli shook her head then. "Thorin told me not to."

Hemery's eyebrows rose. "Did he now?" she breathed out in surprise, but could not keep back a smile. "Well, I'll be damned," she laughed, not knowing what to say.

"Don't curse in front of my niece," Kíli said, appearing suddenly next to her. "That's my thing."

"Uncle Kíli," Híli exclaimed in excitement. He scooped Híli up in his arms without delay, tickling her and shifting her upside down, marching her over to Dwalin to say hello. Híli's delighted squeals faded as they moved away.

Hemery stood up, catching Fíli's eye. She gave him a thin smile, nodding a silent approval of his work as a father. He had done a fine job during Hemery's absence. It was clear Fíli did not expect any physical greeting, so he just met her eyes with a similar smile.

"Welcome home, Hem. You've been missed," he added with an unusual show of emotion. Of course, he did not say it was _he_ who had missed her, but any low spirit in Hanah would surely affect him as well.

"Thank you, Fíli."

He then frowned a bit. "Have you grown taller?" he asked.

Hemery's smile turned tight, and she slapped his chest with the gloves in her hand.

"You well know that I've not grown an inch since I left. Thank you for remindin' me," she said reproachfully.

Though Hanah and Hemery had never been tall, she was self-conscious of that one inch she was still shorter than Hanah.

Fíli laughed. "I daresay you've grown in temper."

She folded her arms in front of her. "I was about to thank you for all your help with my education, but I'm growin' less and less tempted to do so."

"Oh, you overestimate my efforts," Fíli said, as if she did indeed thank him. "I merely wrote some letters, threatened some dignitaries. It wasn't that difficult to find a place for you in Minas Tirith."

"But I'm sure it was not cheap," Hemery maintained.

Fíli shook his head. "I didn't pay for it. That was Dwalin. I only facilitated the transaction."

Confused, she looked at Dwalin standing a few yards away, speaking to Kíli, Híli, and Dis. His stance was stiff and uncomfortable, as usual when in the vicinity of Lady Dis.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Hemery asked.

"We thought he had," Hanah said, amused. "But you know how he is. He doesn't want to draw attention to his generosity. Would probably deny it if you asked." She laughed.

"Despite not being any blood relation of yours, you are his wee lass," Fíli established. "Always will be."

Hemery shook her head. Stubborn dwarves.

Speaking of which . . .

"Where's King Thorin?"

Fíli shrugged, apologetic. "I don't know. He knows you were due back today, but I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Hemery thought it strange that King Thorin would not welcome Kíli, his own nephew, after a year away. And if Hem was also hurt that he did not want to see her, she did not say.

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><p>After dinner the following day, Hemery left her chambers with a book under her arm. The halls of the third floor were silent except for Hemery's footsteps and Bror's, Hemery's guard, who walked a few paces after her.<p>

Hemery had spent the morning unpacking and resettling in her chambers which had stood empty while she had been gone. Sethie had helped her, so every item was organized and all dirty laundry from the journey was washed before noon. Being commanded by Sethie to rest the remainder of the day, Hemery had mostly sat talking with Hanah as she worked all afternoon. After five years in Tirith, she had become used to spending a lot of time alone and longed now for some silence.

Suddenly, Bror stopped and turned around. Hem looked around, searching for the reason. He took a step to the side, revealing Híli behind his large frame.

"What are you doin'?" Hem asked when she did not see Hanah, Sethie, or even a guard accompanying her.

"Lookin' for you," Híli said.

"Does your ma know where you are?"

"With you." Híli pointed to where they came from. "I went through the wet room to see you and heard you leave."

"Oh." If Hanah knew Híli was with her, then she guessed it was fine. She looked to Bror, as if asking for a second opinion.

He just stared blankly back. Hemery sighed. Out of the two of them, he was supposed to be the security expert, but apparently he was no help.

"Well, come on then."

Híli ran to catch up as Hemery and Bror continued walking.

"Where are you going?" Híli asked.

Hemery smirked to herself as she noticed the girl's posh accent. She sounded more like Fíli than a Blackwater lass.

"To the library. I have a book to put in its rightful place."

"What kind of book?"

"A book about dwarves."

"Isn't the library full of books about dwarves?"

Hemery smiled. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But sadly, there aren't that many."

There was silence for a moment.

"Do you like to read?" Hemery asked.

"Sometimes."

"What do you like better?"

"I don't know. Melting things," Híli offered with an excited smile.

Hemery laughed.

"I melted one of mother's golden chain necklaces last week," Híli elaborated when she was rewarded with Hem's amusement. "She said I have to be careful, but I _was_ careful. I used tongs and mother's apron and everything."

Hemery bit her the inside of her cheek to stop laughing. She should not encourage the lass.

"Bet your mother wasn't happy about that."

Híli looked down. "No," she admitted.

"Anythin' else you like doin'?"

"I like sketching, like mother does with coal on paper."

Hemery nodded in understanding. "I guess it's good to be diverse in one's skills."

"Exactly," Híli agreed, beaming.

Hemery was not sure Híli knew what she meant, but it did not matter. Híli's smile needed no justification, she settled, basking in the girl's attention.

Híli's smile had not faded when she suddenly asked, "Can you sing?"

"Can I sing?" Hem echoed in surprise, as if to clarify the question. "Yes, I can, but do you mean if I can sing _well_? No. Your mother is the singer. Your father and uncle would probably claim they're the singers of the family, but don't believe everythin' they say." She winked at Híli who laughed in response.

"Mother only sings to me at night, or on special occasions. Will you sing to me?"

"Now?" Hemery glanced at Bror, self-consciously. His stare was still blank, but his mouth twitched a little.

"I'll not sing on my own. I can teach you somethin', though, so we can sing together––or you can sing when you're by yourself."

"Yes, let's do that." Híli jumped as she walked, clapping her hands. Hemery's embarrassment at singing in the corridor alone diminished at Híli's joyful anticipation.

"Do you know . . . " Hemery went through her memory of songs she knew by heart, searching for something decent enough to teach a child. "Do you know 'The King and the Witch of the Wood'?"

Híli's eyes widened in awe. "No. What's it about? Sing it, _please_," she pleaded, clasping her hands.

"Alright. It's one of those where every other line repeats itself, so when I tell you, you can join in."

Hemery cleared her throat.

"_The king of high graces went to the wood – Coming upon the witch with the hood – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_Can you tell how horses stand in my stable? – And how many of them are able – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_A dozen, Your Highness, but ten are poor – All this I can tell you and more – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_Can you say how long I'll live? – And how much my Queen may give – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_None but your dog will miss you, Sire – And nothing stirs your Queen but ire – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_You're a wise woman, I can tell – And not just from your spell – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_The king grazed the pagan's chin – Said, I know to touch you is a sin – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_But I wish you were my love – High in my tower above – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_I'll take no king to my bed – She said, and the hood she shed – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will _

_Thy heart is cold – Though your touch is bold – We weave our fates still – After the gods' will_

_I fear you'll not survive this wood – Said the lady with the hood . . ."_

Bror waited outside as Hemery pushed open the heavy door to the library. She stopped singing when they crossed the threshold.

"We'll finish later," Hemery said.

"Why can't we sing in here?" Híli asked. "_You'll not survive this wood_," she announced dramatically, worthy of any theatre stage in Tirith.

Hemery winced as the Híli's words travelled down the length of the long, dark room like the howling of a ghoul. "Shhh," she hissed.

"It sounds much stronger in here," Híli observed, delighted.

"Libraries are made for readin'," Hem explained in a soft voice to stop any echo. "Not even speakin' is supposed to be heard in here."

A few lanterns burned, as well as the great fireplace in the middle of the room. Hemery could barely make out the words on the spines of the books and was about to reach for a lantern when Híli suddenly ran to the fireplace.

"Uncle Thorin," she called out.

Hemery froze, trying to focus on the shape by the fire through the gloom.

"Now there's two of you," a deep, familiar voice rumbled. "Two girls who don't know the proper way to behave in a library."

When he reached out an arm to her, Híli completely ignored the insult and climbed onto Thorin's chair, settling comfortably on his knee.

Hemery's heart suddenly beat faster. He had just surprised her, she gathered. That was all. And perhaps some nerves played a part since she had not heard from him in years and still did not know why.

Slowly, Hemery approached the fireplace. Not until she was halfway did she see him well enough to make out his face. Híli must have had ten times better sight than she. At this moment, however, Hemery almost wished she was blind. Thorin only glanced at her indifferently before turning back to Híli on his lap.

"I'm not surprised," he drawled. "I knew you'd come and disturb me eventually."

Hemery did not know if he spoke to her or to Híli, but answered anyway. "And I'm not surprised to find you here. Hidin' as usual." His nonchalance triggered a streak of impertinence in her.

"There's a difference between hiding and owning one's privacy. No one else bothers me here. No one but you, it seems."

Again, she was not sure if he spoke to her or perhaps both of them.

"What would I have to hide from?"

"I don't know," she replied. She only ever said things like that to provoke him. "I was just wonderin' why you didn't greet Kíli yesterday? You've not seen him for such a long time," she answered truthfully, but could not deny it also related to her.

"Kíli is my nephew. When he returns, whether it is from duties or leisurely excursions, he will come to me. I wait on no one," he said with finality.

Hemery felt her cheeks heat. But she should not be embarrassed. It was not as if she asked him to personally greet her.

"Of course, Your Highness." Hemery pursed her lips, not knowing what to say.

Silence stretched while Híli looked between her aunt and uncle, curiously.

"I trust you are in good health," Thorin said at long last.

"Yes, Sire." Hemery dipped her chin once in a respectful nod. "And you?"

"Yes, yes. Fine," he replied impatiently, waving away the question. A smile tugged on Hemery's lips. The king had never been fond of conventions and pleasantries, but he knew they must be adhered to.

For some reason, Hemery found herself standing very straight with her shoulders pulled back like Dwalin always told her. She had to remind herself she need not care what Thorin thought of her posture or her manners. She tried to stand relaxed and normal, but felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Finally, she folded her arms around the book in her hands.

"We came to leave Aunt Hemery's book here," Híli said.

"Oh?" Thorin voiced a vague interest. "Is it a volume borrowed these five years Miss Hemery has been away?" he asked.

"No," Hemery said, tired of being addressed sideways. "It has never been a part of this library. But . . . " she hesitated. "I hope you'll allow it to a place here from now on."

Thorin motioned for Híli to fetch it. She jumped down from his lap, ran the four steps to Hemery, received the book and ran back to Thorin.

He leafed through a few pages.

"From where does it come?" he asked.

Hemery's mouth went dry.

"I wrote it."

His eyes snapped up to hers with raised eyebrows. In surprise or disapproval was impossible to tell in this light.

"I've always found that there was not enough information about the culture of this city," she explained. "Not just the language, but the stories, songs, and traditions. It's a part of the legacy of your people. It belongs here," she finished, uncertain.

Thorin stared at her a moment, then snapped the book shut and handed it back to Híli who held onto it. He pointed to the shelves on his right, detached.

"I'm sure you can find room for it."

Híli went to do just that. Hemery did not know what Híli would view as a good place, but the disappointment she felt at Thorin's disinterest overshadowed any concern about alphabetical order and topic systems.

She followed Híli dumbly with her eyes. Would the book be another dusty tome on the shelves no one touched? She sighed mournfully.

Thorin's voice roused her.

"What did you do to your hair?" he asked, frowning now.

"What?" Confused, Hem raised her hands to the knot at the back of her head, but nothing seemed amiss.

"You never used to wear it like that," he said.

When Hemery was younger, she used to braid her hair in a simple plait. But when she moved to Minas Tirith, she wanted to look more like the women there. Because of her height, people always assumed she was younger than her years, so, to look more grown up, she had taken to wearing her hair like they did. After a while, she stopped thinking about it.

"Well, I'm not a child anymore," she said.

"No Ereborean would wear it that way," he claimed stubbornly.

She had forgotten how particular dwarves were about hair. Hemery would have found it amusing if the statement had not been so rude.

"I'm not a dwarf either. Anyway, I wear my hair however I like. And I do not require your opinion on the subject . . . Your Highness," she added to soften her impudence.

His gaze continued to pierce her, as if he knew there was more to her reasoning than she let on.

Hemery folded her arms again. "Married women wear it like this in Tirith," she said. "I found that people––or, rather, that _men_," she clarified with an eye roll, "let me be if I wore it like this. More than they would otherwise, in any case."

Híli returned. It was clear in the way she hurried back and forth that Híli had little interest in the library as such, but much more curiosity towards her aunt and uncle and what they were talking about.

"There was somethin' I meant to ask you, Sire," Hemery said.

"A request on your first day back? This ought to be note worthy. Should we not schedule an official audience for this?" Thorin teased with a dry smile.

Hemery stood firm, determined to not be intimidated by his manners now that she had brought it up.

"I'd like your permission to put forward a suggestion to the schoolmasters about some expansions of Erebor's education structure. I think they should include more readings in the curriculum. And make education available to all citizens of all ages and races."

Thorin sighed, but did not say no straight away which was a good sign.

"As much as I admire your idealism, a reformation of the magnitude you speak would not be easy––or cheap."

"I know––"

"Nor would it be welcome," he went on. "Change in this mountain is like chipping away at diamonds with a teaspoon."

Hemery kept her chin high. "I would like to try," she said.

Thorin looked at her a moment before letting out a short huff, the corner of his mouth pulling upward a fraction.

"You do not waste time, Miss Skinner."

"Not when it's this important," she agreed.

"Though you have wasted plenty of time in here when you should have been working. Driving your sister half mad, disappearing for hours at a time."

Hemery smiled, remembering well how she had spent her time running between Hanah's workshop and the library. Sometimes forgetting all time and existence so Hanah had to come look for her late at night, berating her all the way to bed. She scrunched her nose at her younger self who had been so easily lured into the world of ink on paper.

"You remember that?" she asked, surprised he would have taken notice of her penalties.

"Seems like only yesterday," he said, looking away.

There was silence again. Híli had taken up the poker from the fireplace and pushed around the burning logs.

"Your efforts have my blessing," Thorin said. "I'm sure my sister would be interested as well. Speak to her––she'll enforce your venture."

Hemery stared. "You don't want to hear the details? I have it all planned out, about material and facilities––"

"I should hope so," he interrupted. "Those five years away ought not have been in vain, or your family has spent a pretty penny on a tedious holiday. I'm confident you will produce a reasonable proposal."

Not until that moment did Hemery realise how much she had feared he would say no. Now, her fear almost seemed silly. Thorin was not a fool. He knew that improving literacy would benefit the whole kingdom in the long run. And if he thought she had no chance to succeed, he would have said so.

Calm and confidence filled her, and she bowed her head with a smile.

"Gratitude. I appreciate your support."

Thorin dismissed her words. "As if you would cease your efforts had I refused? You don't need my permission, but you have it. So there."

Hemery said nothing. He was probably right. She would have worked harder to prove her point.

With her errand done and their discussion concluded, Hemery and Híli should leave. In the past, whenever she happened to meet Thorin in the library, she could mostly ignore him and go about her business, searching the shelves for new and interesting finds. Now, she felt bound by propriety and a compulsion to not disturb Thorin that she had never experienced before.

Hemery looked at her niece. "We should go back, Híli."

"Already?"

Hemery held out a hand for her.

"I'll teach you the rest of the song. Come on."

"Good bye, Uncle Thorin." Híli kissed his cheek before going to Hemery and taking her hand.

"Good night," Hemery said. "Your Highness," she added before turning away.

Thorin said nothing, but Hemery did not dare look back to try and figure out why.


	3. Chapter 3 - Unexpected Commands

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: FeeKilico, EquusGold, Vanafindiel, mh21, Skywolf42, DragynFyre18, and Guest!

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><p>Chapter 3 – Unexpected Commands<p>

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><p>"But before your mother could plunge the sword through the demon's heart, she shrivelled and shrank, transformin' into a serpent, slitherin' swiftly into the freezin' waters, never to be seen again," Hemery finished her story in a dramatic whisper to a wide-eyed Híli.<p>

"Don't scare the poor lass," Sethie admonished with a quirk to her lips, dumping another load of laundry in a tub of hot water.

Hemery straightened with an innocent look, continuing to iron her petticoats. "It's Mahal's honest truth," she said, shaking her head and pursing thin lips in sober confirmation. "That's why they call it the Snake Fall."

"No, it isn't," Sethie protested. "It's because of the wormwood growing on the riverbank."

"That's what they want you to think." Hemery poked Híli's nose playfully.

Híli was familiar enough with Hemery's judgement to know that _they_ meant Híli's family on her father's side—the Durins.

"What would people do if they knew such a beast dwelled in the serene sweet-water springs of their home?" Hemery challenged.

"They'd be afraid?" Híli asked.

"Correct. They'd be very afraid. In the last ten years that the serpent's been loose, who knows how large it has grown? Comin' and goin' at will through our creeks and rivers, impossible to catch, tormentin' us with its very existence."

The story was an imaginative exaggeration of what had happened, but Hemery felt its truth resonate in her heart.

"Always, she reminds us of where we come from and where our true family is. Do you know what family is, Híli?"

Híli looked up from the dry linens she was folding. "Father says I'm his blood. Family is to have the same blood."

Hemery shook her head, authoritative. "Family are the ones who forgive our mistakes when we show remorse and shelter us when no one else will. The ones who teach us skills of life and let us to grow."

She thought about Hanah, but also about Dwalin. He was not Hemery and Hanah's blood, but he was as much family as their own father had been. Even Fíli, she had to admit, was part of her family. She may not like him very much, but she cared for his well fare like a sister for her brother.

"She also reminds us that our security comes with a price, and we must fight to keep it." Hemery's voice turned soft but firm. "Not to mention that a sound education in sword fightin' is crucial for all women."

"That's enough morality tales for one morning," Sethie said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Miss Híli, you'd better go up to eat with your mother so you're fit for your session with Dwalin this afternoon."

Hemery smiled. "You'll need it." She opened her arms to receive Híli's hug before the girl left, joined by her guard in the corridor outside.

"Miss Hanah will not be pleased if you keep filling that girl's head with nightmares," Sethie warned with a smile. Hemery was not bothered in the least.

"That girl hangs on my word like a bat on a cave ceiling," she replied proudly. "I'll teach her everythin' I know."

"Everything, eh?" Sethie mocked. "Lucky girl."

Hemery threw a wet towel at the maid's head, earning a loud cackling laugh in return as Sethie caught it.

There was a knock on the open door. Hemery turned to see Balin in the opening to the laundry room.

"Miss Skinner," he expressed formally. He was unusually sombre. "You are summoned to court."

Hemery blanched, immediately thinking of the book she presented to Thorin a few weeks ago. She head feared he would see it as crossing the boundary between their cultures. Perhaps he disapproved. Perhaps he hated it. Perhaps he would punish her for her revealing secrets about dwarves for the world to see.

She took a deep breath. She would not assume the worst before hearing what it was about.

"Is somethin' wrong?" she asked calmly.

Balin shook his head with a tense smile. "Nothin' to worry about. Thorin wants you and yer sister's presence for a special hearing. You are to be witnesses and . . . advisors if need be."

He drummed his fingertips on his belt restlessly. It may not have anything to do with her, but he was clearly uneasy.

"Very well," Hem agreed.

She took off her apron and rolled down the long sleeves of her dress, buttoning them at the wrists. The dress was simple and high-necked with only a slight intake at the waist—much like a chambermaid's, except for the dark red colour. Hemery still found it strange how the dress incited more respect than her old tunic and trousers had ever done. Fortunately, the dress was more comfortable.

Sethie tucked back a few wisps of hair into Hemery's knot before letting her join Balin and Bror in the corridor.

"What happened?" Hemery asked as they moved through the halls down to the throne room.

"Border patrol came upon a band of men in the forest to the east. The men drew arms, but were quickly overtaken and seized."

Hemery found this strange. "Why were they arrested?"

"No men residin' in the area would pull swords against dwarven soldiers." He shook his head. "No. We suspect they have come from Blackwater."

Hemery felt like she was sinking, though her feet kept walking, as if separate from her body.

"What for?"

"We don't know. We are goin' to question them now. That's why we want ye there. Yer knowledge of Blackwater might be valuable."

They entered the big hall through a side door. There were no people on the floor except for a row of guards along each wall. On the platform, the thrones were empty. The king and the princes were absent; not even Dis lingered in the gallery. Instead, Balin moved to stand in front of the thrones next to the dwarves Hemery recognized as part of the king's personal guard—Rál, Steig, and Vannur.

Hanah and Fíli appeared by Hemery's side. The older sister took a deep breath.

"This will be interestin'," was all Hanah said.

"Shouldn't Thorin be here?" Hemery asked.

"We don't want our visitors too close," Fíli replied. "If they are what we fear, then we cannot risk them coming into contact with any of us."

"You're here," Hem noted.

"I'm not about to put my—" he stopped himself. "Put Hanah in harms way."

Had he been about to call Hanah his wife? Hemery smirked.

"Thorin's not happy, but there's little he can do," Hanah said, looking up. "The council will not let him within the strangers' reach."

Hemery followed her gaze to the balcony. A group of people were gathered along the railing. She spotted Thorin's and Kíli's dark hair among them. They reminded her of children spying overtly from behind a tree log.

"Where's Híli?" Hem asked.

"Sethie and Nuhir took her to see Dwalin until supper," said Hanah.

Footsteps echoed on the stone. Hemery and everyone one else in the hall turned their focus to the man being ushered forward by four guards.

He was taller than his captors, but looked thoroughly defeated. He walked with slumped shoulders though his hands were untied. His ragged clothes stained dark by damp and dirt increased the sense of dejection. The man looked utterly alone. Hemery almost felt sorry for him.

"One man?" Hemery asked her companions in a whisper.

"The leader," Fíli answered. "He was the first of the five who ordered them to drop their weapons when the soldiers had them cornered. We want the chance to interrogate each individually should the first interaction fail."

The man was brought to a stop twenty feet from Balin.

"I am Balin son of Fundin," he said in a clear, commanding voice travelling the length of the room. "I speak for Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, King Under the Mountain."

Silence dominated the room, everyone waiting for Balin's instructions.

"Who are you, and why did you attack the king's soldiers?"

"We are hunters—just tryin' to find game to smoke before the frost comes," the man replied.

Hanah turned to whisper to Fíli. "He's from east of Blackwater, but not by much. You can hear it in the a's."

Fíli nodded in agreement.

"What is yer name?" Balin demanded.

The man hesitated almost imperceptibly. "Tarren Low."

"Yer deception is an insult, Mister Low," came Balin's bold accusation. "Ye had no bows, no cargo, no trophies, not even a copper. Clearly, ye're not hunters. And ye're decidedly not merchants nor even thieves."

Tarren Low frowned, but remained silent.

"Five of ye we found, yet six horses grazed in the glade. Six bedrolls. Six cloaks. Where's yer sixth companion?"

"There is no sixth," Tarren Low answered.

These were the first words he spoke while meeting Balin's eyes, which made Hemery believe they were the first sincere words spoken.

"You were lookin' for someone," Hem said as soon as the idea struck her.

Tarren snapped his eyes to her, apprehensive, but said nothing. Balin noticed this.

"Is that true?" he asked, eyes narrowing at Tarren. "Ye don't deny it."

Tarren looked down, refusing to answer.

"Who is it ye seek? Friend or foe?" Balin continued. "Why enter this kingdom in yer pursuit? Is the person to be valued—or feared? _Speak_."

Balin was running out of steam. If the questions remained unanswered, Hem feared he would resort to threats.

"If you brought a horse for this individual," she speculated, trying to trigger some reaction, some tell, from Tarren, "and a bedroll, and warm clothes, you prioritize their comfort. Comfort equal to your own."

She looked at Balin in silent permission. He nodded shallowly in assurance. Relieved, Hemery took a new breath.

"You seek someone whom you wish to treat well. Someone important, otherwise you'd not risk comin' this close to Erebor." This was easy enough to deduce. Come on, Tarren—show us a sign. Say something, she wished.

Tarren only stared at the stone floor with shoulders slumped, dejected.

Hemery stepped down from the platform, stopping at his level.

"But you're not sure you'll even find this person," she guessed. "That's why you answered in denial about the sixth horse. And you're reluctant to say who because we might find them before you."

Tarren raised his head as if to glare at her, but stopped himself.

_There_, Hemery thought in triumph. A reaction.

She shared a look with Balin. It was very likely she was right in her assumptions. Now they had something to go on, somewhere to start their own search if Tarren would not talk.

"Apart from general hostility and defiance toward the king's soldiers, you have committed no crime," said Fíli in a benevolent voice. "But you must see why we are interested in your business here."

Fíli was a good mediator, Hemery knew. His friendly manners often assured people where they previously were uncertain.

"Sadly," he continued, apologetic, "due to Erebor's history with the lord of Blackwater, every visitor from the east is forced to suffer scrutiny. Especially those who employ such secrecy. If you answer our questions truthfully and convince us you mean no harm, I see no reason why we should not let you go."

"And if we refuse?" Tarren Low challenged.

"In that case," Balin's stern voice contrasted, "the king has no qualms about detaining ye until ye do."

Hemery looked at Balin. Could he do that? Technically, Tarren Low and his companions had done nothing wrong. Fíli had just said as much. Thorin would not lock them up without a cause, surely?

Tarren seemed to be of a similar opinion.

"You have no right to keep us here," he said, voice raised, taking a step forward.

Immediately, Bror's armoured back appeared in front of Hemery, his axe pointing menacingly at Tarren's chest, forcing him back. Shocked, more from Bror's sudden reaction than fear of Tarren, Hemery retreated to her place beside Hanah and Fíli. Hanah put her arm around her shoulders.

"I'll ask ye one more time," Balin said as the room began to hum with soldiers readying to take Tarren Low down if he so much as breathed in a threatening way.

"It's true then—King Thorin is a tyrant just like all masters," Tarren spat.

Hanah gasped at the insult in shocked fear of what might happen to Mister Low due to his strong language. Hemery in turn winced. He really should no better than to call Thorin a tyrant, she thought.

Balin sighed, knowing communication was dead. "Take him away," he told the guards.

"This is outrageous. You have no right!" Tarren Low's protests echoed as he was removed from the hall.

Hemery, Hanah, and Fíli followed Balin to a room behind the thrones. Thorin and Kíli were already there, waiting.

"He hails from Blackwater," Fíli stated. "That much we know. What we don't know is whether or not he breached our borders under orders from there."

"They're not likely to talk either," Balin predicted. "If and when Brage finds out we are holding them, he'll rile up every man within a hundred miles to protest their arrests. And if Brage has not charged them with some mission, then we're incarcerating innocent men," he finished gravely.

"They're hardly innocent," Thorin grumbled. "No one wears such heavy weaponry unless they plan to use it."

"But did you see his clothes?" Hanah asked. "He's a ranger, not a mercenary."

"They attacked my men," Thorin argued methodically, undeterred.

"Considerin' how dwarves are talked about in Blackwater, it's not surprisin'," Hanah explained.

"You heard him," Fíli said to Thorin, agreeing with Hanah. "They think dwarves are the spawn of evil. There's a chance, however small, they honestly thought they were defending themselves."

"Back to the crucial question, please," Kíli requested. "We need to know why they're here. His refusal to talk says they're definitely hiding something. I think Hem's right—they're looking for someone."

"Perhaps we should find this elusive person on behalf of our guests?" Fíli offered.

Thorin thought a moment before coming to a decision. "Triple the patrols on the border," he told Fíli and Kíli. "If there's someone on my mountain who's not supposed to be here, I want to know."

Thorin held a hard, precise tone Hemery had never heard before.

He turned to Balin. "Continue interrogations until you learn their objective. Alternate between them. Of the five, there must be one who fears another will talk before they do. Or at least dislikes rock and darkness enough to tell us whatever we want to know in order to be let out."

Hanah left first. Hemery could tell by her hard heels on the stone that she did not agree with Thorin's plan, but was not going to argue with him. Balin, Fíli, and Kíli stayed to discuss specifics of patrol duty. Thorin was about to leave when Hemery caught up with him outside the room.

The soldiers had left the throne room; only their own personal guards remained.

"Sire," Hemery said, making him pause. "You'll leave the men in the cells? Without cause?"

"You think I don't have enough cause?" Thorin raised his voice, clearly not happy with being questioned. "Give them a few days without light or heat—we'll find their true purpose here."

Hemery recoiled. "But that's torture," she exclaimed, incredulous.

"Ten years of uncertainty while Fíli's attempted assassination goes unpunished._ That_ is torture," Thorin growled. He pinned her with his steel stare.

"You cannot punish these men for somethin' you cannot prove," Hemery almost whispered, not daring to speak louder.

"A few days of discomfort are trivial. I take the risk gladly if it provides ultimate certainty."

"But— " Hem did not know what to say. She also wanted justice for Fíli, though she had no right to claim it more than Thorin. But the prize could not be the suffering of others. It would be a gross moral transgression, impossible to recover from—impossible to forgive for those who endured it.

"But it's wrong," she managed weakly.

Thorin looked away. He turned as if to leave, but hesitated. His coat grazed the floor as he shifted where he stood. Hemery noticed it was the same coat he used to wear before she left—the one Hanah and their father had made. It was in good shape. He must have had Hanah maintain it for him several times for it to hold together so well and stay vivid in the black leather and white fur.

Hemery used to be proud, knowing the king wore her sister's work. He used to be dependable and righteous in a world full of liars and cowards. But perhaps that was a child's view. Perhaps she had not been allowed to see the real king.

She felt torn. Were Tarren Low's words true? Was Thorin as vengeful and cold as Lady Brage?

Thorin glanced at her over his shoulder. "It will be over soon," he finally said before walking away.


	4. Chapter 4 - Unexpected Queries

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: FeeKilico, madscientistroduction 01, Dragynfyre18, Skywolf42, Vanafindiel, and Wynni!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 – Unexpected Queries<p>

* * *

><p>Dinner that night was a quiet affair. With Híli present, the subject of the visitors was avoided, but Hemery's and Hanah's eyes met over the table a few times––dissatisfied and dejected. When they had time to speak later that evening, it was rushed and without hope.<p>

"Fíli's been busy all afternoon, but I'll talk to him now," Hanah said. "Hopefully, he can try to change Thorin's mind tomorrow."

Such was the nature of Hanah's trust in Fíli that there was no doubt in her mind that Fíli shared her thoughts. Hemery wished she could be as sure.

Sitting in her chambers late that night, Hemery noticed the full moon outside. It moved in waves as she approached the uneven glass window, as if it was merely a reflection on a black lake.

It was cold out. Frost was coming. The cells were placed deep in the mountain, but the efficient ventilation would make short work of the long tunnels, making it equally cold in the cells as it was in a damp, drafty, shallow cave.

Suddenly, Hemery threw on a cloak over her dress and grabbed a lantern from a table.

Whatever hot-blooded, indignant attitude Low might have been able to show in the afternoon would surely be lukewarm by now. The men would be cold and hungry. Surely, they would be more inclined to find a solution to their problem than Tarren had been earlier. It would not hurt, either, to initiate a conversation without the audience of dwarven soldiers.

Hemery decided she would find out. Her night guard, Raín, followed dutifully and silently when she left her chambers heading for the lower levels, but stopped when they reached the door leading down to the cells. Eight soldiers in full gear guarded the doors. They were still like statues, but Hem knew they were ever watchful and alert.

"What?" Hem asked when the dwarf would not continue.

"None is to enter or exit the cellblock without explicit permission from the royal family or the head of the council," Raín replied.

Raín's voice was different than Hemery would have expected. She had not spent much time in Raín's company since Hem rarely ventured out at night, and Raín had only been assigned to Hemery's guard after her return to Erebor.

Raín's voice was a pleasant alto with a tinge of Dwalin's dialect. The uniform hid most of any gender-specific features. Even the helmet sat close to the skin and covered so much of the cheeks that it was an easy fact for Hemery to miss. She was not as obsessive over beards as the other mountain dwellers.

Hemery's eyebrows shot up. "You're a woman," she pointed out before she could stop herself. Some of the sentries snickered at the surprised statement. Hemery rounded on them.

"Excuse me," she sneered. "Wasn't talkin' to you."

She turned back to Raín. "Is this the only way in?"

Raín appeared as stoic as ever, but her eyes shifted rapidly.

"No, Miss. But the other entries are guarded as well."

"What would happen if I tried to go in?"

"The sentries would . . . stop you?" Raín seemed uneasy about the line of questioning, as if she believed it to be a test.

Hemery reached out to grab the door handle. The sentries closed the ranks, leaving no room to touch the door at all.

"And if I tried really hard?" Hemery asked, moving to stand nose to nose with the nearest guard, staring him down. At least she thought it was a he.

"With all due respect, Miss," Raín said. "They'd arrest ye."

"And put me in a cell in there?" Hemery pointed beyond the door the sentries were currently blocking.

Raín frowned. "I won't presume to know what it is ye want in the dungeons, Miss––"

Hemery almost snorted. The whole mountain was a dungeon.

"––But I doubt ye'll achieve anything locked in there."

Hemery put her hands on her hips, staring at the door a moment. Then she turned back to Raín.

"I guess I'll get permission, then," she said, walking back up the stairs. Raín followed.

* * *

><p>"Do you know what time it is?" Kíli groaned through a crack in his door.<p>

Hemery smiled indulgingly. "It'd be so easy to let you go back to your warm feather bed. You probably had a nice cup of wine in front of the fire before, didn't you? A good year, I bet, with a spicy taste from an oak barrel to heat your belly before a long night's sleep?" Her smile dropped. "Do you know how cold it is in the dungeons? You'll come with me to the cellblock, right now, and clear up this mess your uncle made."

"How is this my problem? Why aren't you knocking on his door?"

Hemery glared at him. "Take some bloody responsibility, Prince Kíli," she hissed. She glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no one overheard her. Raín and Kíli's guards stood a few yards away, pretending not to take notice of every word.

"He doesn't care about some Blackwater men catchin' their death in his cells," Hem went on. "He's takin' his vengeance out on them, though you and I both know he can't prove they've done anythin' wrong. But if we go down there right now, they might tell us the real reason they're here, and we can let them go before Thorin commits a crime against_ them_."

Kíli leaned his forehead on the doorframe tiredly.

"You know I'm right," Hem cajoled insistently.

With a deep sigh, Kíli joined her in the corridor, putting on a coat over his white shirt and leather trousers which he clearly pulled on just before opening the door.

"Why don't you bother my brother with this?"

Because Kíli was more likely to agree and do as she asked.

"Your rooms were closest," Hem said, shrugging.

Kíli shook his head. "I'm so underappreciated."

"Sob later," Hem said impatiently quickening her pace down the stairs. "Come on."

* * *

><p>Doors opened automatically, as if proudly displaying the newly oiled hinges, for Prince Kíli, Hemery, Raín, and Kíli's four guards. The sentries respectfully stepped out of the way when they approached, readily producing keys and holding doors.<p>

Most of the cells were empty, but Kíli seemed to know what they were looking for, guiding them further down. It was colder in the lower levels than Hemery thought. Water dripped from the ceiling and her breath came out as steam. At least, what little she saw of it in the dim light of the lanterns they brought. Kíli stopped by a wall of bars.

Tarren Low's cell.

"Mister Low?" Hemery said, raising her lantern to light the cell.

He sat on a bench in the corner. He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the lantern. His eyes hurt when exposed to light after only one evening spent in blackness.

"You don't know me," she began. "My name is Hemery Skinner."

Tarren's eyes flickered. From recognition or adjusting to the light, she was not sure.

"I hate to see you remain in this cell. No one should have to spend time down here. I'm here to implore you to communicate. It's your best chance of gettin' out."

"I'm not tellin' you anythin'," Tarren replied simply.

"See?" Kíli spoke under his breath to Hem, eager to conclude their business and leave. "What do you expect from Blackwater trash?"

She grit her teeth, glaring at him. "_I'm_ Blackwater trash," she argued, struggling to keep her voice down. "You did your part. Now, shut up," she hissed crossly, pushing a fingertip hard into his chest. Then she turned back to Tarren.

"Why won't you speak?" she asked politely. "If you searched for someone dear to you, we could help you find them. It's a simple request."

"You can't help me. I wish you could, m'lady, but you can't."

Hemery thought about his words. How could someone be so forsaken? What could have happened to Tarren Low to make him lose hope?

She shared a look with Kíli who only frowned back, shrugging.

"I'm from Blackwater as well," Hem told Tarren. "About ten years ago, my sister and I were forced to leave because we made business with dwarves. Lady Brage locked my sister up in a room much like this one. They almost killed her before we were lucky enough to escape. Their cells were not as heavily guarded as these."

Tarren turned to stare into nothing.

"The Brages have done terrible things, as I'm sure you know," she continued. "If you came here on their orders––please, tell us."

He still said nothing, but Hemery could see his clenched fists. Something she said resonated in him.

"Two kinds of people work for Brage––those who are paid and those who are extorted. Somehow I doubt you are in their employ by choice. If you were a mercenary, you'd have offered us information in exchange for gold. You know the dwarves have plenty. But you didn't because your predicament would remain. Whether you oblige us in our requests or not, it doesn't matter, because we're not your problem––they are."

"As I said," Tarren slowly lifted his eyes to hers. "You can't help."

"Perhaps we can," Hemery said, optimistic. "The landlords have run Blackwater long enough, and Erebor is the only power in the area that can overthrow them, create a new government on the ridge. Brage has no friends, no allies. Whatever they are threatenin' you with, we can help."

"They are in control of everythin'," Tarren said, finally confirming her train of thought. He might have been a full-grown man with children, but he looked very young at that moment, an uncertainty lacing his face. "Things will only get worse if we resist."

"How much worse? Look around you," Kíli challenged, snorting without amusement. "Will they lock you up in a cold cell? Will they kill you? Kill your family?"

Tarren tore his eyes away, supporting his head in his hands.

"Will you kill for Brage? Will you kill someone else's family in order to keep your own safe?" Hemery pushed, raising her lantern higher. She felt him retreat, and she needed to keep him engaged. "Look at me," she commanded, banging the metal edge of the lantern against the bars to catch his attention.

Tarren looked up. She tilted her chin, displaying her throat to him.

"They sent a woman here to kill one of the princes. They held her brother hostage to make sure she did what they asked. She failed in her mission, but she did this to me."

He got up from the bench and approached the bars. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to focus what little sight he possessed on the long, white scar on her neck.

"I was twelve years old," Hemery said.

"What happened to her?" he asked, wary.

"She's dead. I don't know what happened to her brother."

Tarren put his hands on the bars, gripping them until his knuckles whitened.

Hemery chanced a look at Kíli. The dwarf prince stood in the same place as before, seemingly not daring to speak, anticipation clear in his eyes. She was thinking the same thing.

At any moment, Tarren might actually tell them something important.

"Do you promise the Brages will pay for their crimes?" he asked, staring at them through the bars.

Hemery bit her lip in indecision. Could she promise something like that?

"They tried to murder my brother," Kíli said with a grave expression. "We promise to do all we can to bring them to justice."

Tarren stared at him a moment, seemingly weighing Kíli's words.

"They want their daughter," he said finally.

What was he talking about?

"Who?" Hem asked confused.

"The landlords. Their daughter is missin'."

"But––" Hem began, "they don't have any children. Their sons died thirty years ago."

"Apparently, that's why they kept her a secret. Lady Brage wanted to keep her safe by keeping her indoors at all times. But in the end, the girl wanted out––so she ran away. I had no idea myself until they sent us out to look for her."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Kíli asked.

Tarren sighed. "You don't, but if you find a nineteen year old girl runnin' around in the forest, you'll have leverage against Brage."

* * *

><p>Kíli looked as giddy as Hemery felt when they left Tarren's cell.<p>

"Out of all possible explanations," he said, "I would never have guessed they were sent to fetch home a runaway."

"I'm just glad they're not here to kill anyone," Hemery said, feeling her heart race after the break through with Tarren.

"Let's hope he's telling the truth."

"Let's hope we find that girl."

"Or the mountainside will be crawling with Blackwater rangers soon," Kíli complemented. "The mad harpy might burn the forest down looking for her."

They fell into a fit of nervous giggles as they moved towards the warm light of torches in the next corridor. A shadow blocked their view.

"What in the faery forest do ye think ye're doing?" Balin's voice asked.

"Mister Balin," Kíli exclaimed. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

"I could ask you the same thing, lad. They summoned me the moment ye entered the cellblock."

"We did it," Kíli said, smiling. "We know why they're here––"

Balin closed his eyes briefly, holding up a hand to stop him. "Aye, I heard."

"You heard?" Hemery echoed. How long had he been down here?

"Ingenious, I must say," he commented. "But very risky. Ye don't know how lucky ye are, both of ye."

"It's not like I divulged any state secrets," Hemery said, shaking her head in bewilderment.

Balin sighed patiently. "No, but if Mister Low had been an assassin, ye placed one of the princes within his reach––the exact situation we were trying to avoid."

Hemery flushed and looked down.

"Everything went fine. We were very careful," Kíli assured him.

"Tell that to yer uncle," Balin said meaningfully.

Kíli sobered quickly. "He's here?" he asked carefully, as if fearing Thorin was just around the corner.

"On his way," Balin replied.

"Right. Of course." Kíli turned to Hemery, frowning. "You should return to your rooms."

"This was my idea," she said. "I should take responsibility for it."

Kíli smiled crookedly. "I know, but that is not what's about to happen. You'll have your chance to explain yourself to Thorin––but not now."

"But I have to––"

"No, you really don't," Kíli insisted, as if knowing exactly what she was going to say. "You talked me into it, but you did not twist my arm, little sister. I will bear it, and we'll talk tomorrow. Now _go_."

Kíli beckoned Raín to take her back. Frowning, Hemery obliged, walking with Raín to her rooms. Hem would have liked a chance to tell Thorin he was most likely wrong about Tarren and his men. She also knew he would be angry that they initiated a dialogue with Tarren without his or Balin's awareness. She realised now, too late, why it had been risky. The air of innocence she had latched onto could have been a ruse.

The triumph of getting answers from Tarren faded in the wake of embarrassment. She should have waited until the morning, talked to Fíli and agreed on some form of strategy to engage Tarren and then maybe––hopefully––have the men moved to better sleeping quarters. But even one night in that place was one too many in her estimation.

The truth was she had been angry with Thorin. Disappointed. She had wanted to defy him, to prove him wrong. And now Kíli would pay for her childishness.

* * *

><p>Hemery could not sleep. She had tried, but only tossed and turned, imagining Thorin's disapproval of her behaviour––the sound of his voice, the look on his face. It forced her to hum loudly into her pillow, trying to drown out the conjuring of her mind.<p>

There was a knock on her door. Hemery sat up in bed. It must have been early morning, though dawn had not yet bleached the horizon. Draping a large shawl over her nightdress, she approached the door barefoot. Though she knew Raín and dozens of other guards were vigilant at every entrance to the south wing, she threw a glance at the dagger on her side table. Dwalin would chew her ear off if he knew she opened the door unarmed in the middle of the night.

Hemery opened the door, half hiding behind it. Her eyes widened.

It was Thorin.

Silently, he lifted his eyes to hers, a tense crease between his eyebrows. She tried to gauge his mood, but it was impossible.

When he just stood there, not saying anything, she opened the door fully, moving aside and allowing him to enter. With measured, heavy strides, he went inside, stopping in front of the window, his back to her. Hemery closed the door.

By now he must have heard everything that transpired, what she had done and what they had found out. Why was he so quiet? Why did he come there at all? Why did he not wait until the morning to summon her for a proper scolding?

One of his hands rested on the windowsill, gripping the edge harder than needed to simply lean on. Perhaps he was so vexed that he could not let it rest until he had told her exactly how wrong she had acted. He was probably wondering where to start.

The thought made a surge of annoyance heat her belly. She had only done what she thought was right, trying to help. Dwalin always told her to follow her own sense of justice. If Thorin would punish her for it, she would face it without regrets.

Hemery had enough of the oppressive silence. She wanted it over with.

"Apologies, Sire," she began, acknowledging the transgression she had made. "I realise I shouldn't have taken the liberty of talkin' to Tarren alone."

"_No_," he replied brusquely before the last syllable was uttered. "You shouldn't have."

His tone stung more than she had feared. Looking down, she noticed her toes beneath the hem of her nightdress and tried to hide them, suddenly feeling very exposed.

He grew quiet again. As if restless, he pushed away from the windowsill, moving along the far wall, not really looking at the tapestries, furniture, tools, or mementos around the room. But he held out a hand, as if to brush his fingertips over the surfaces, but never touching anything.

"And I should have spoken to Mister Balin first."

"Yes," he agreed once more, voice harsh. "You should have."

He completed his turn about the room, passing her by the door. Goosebumps erupted along her spine and neck when she felt a gust of cold air from his billowing cloak, but she kept her eyes down so he would not see the irritation in her face. She knew she always hid her true feelings poorly.

"I wanted to stay, but Kíli insisted I go––"

"My nephew is most anxious to shift any and all culpability from you, wishing to protect _his little sister_," he interrupted impatiently. "But you're not his sister, nor can he bear the weight of anyone's responsibilities but his own."

Thorin's voice grated on Hemery's ears, the disparagement like needles on her skin.

"Now, given all that has transpired tonight," he continued in a lower register. "I am more convinced than ever that you are not an imbecile. Therefore, I must assume you defy me on purpose."

She glanced up at him, unconsciously betraying herself and confirming his suspicion. He regarded her with thunder in his eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek. She knew she should not, but she had to say something.

"I was worried about their health," Hemery said, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "And rightly so, I might add."

"You underestimate the men's constitution, but overestimate their tenacity," Thorin rumbled curtly. "They would have spilled their darkest secrets long before their lives were in any real danger."

Hemery sighed, draping her shawl higher when she felt it slipping down her shoulders.

"That's not the issue. No one should be exposed to those cells, especially when they are not convicted of any crime. Beheadin' would be merciful compared to dyin' of pneumonia or freezin' to death. You asked for my help, but then expected me to do nothin' when you're mistreatin' those men?"

"I was aware of your perspective, I considered it, and I made a decision," he replied firmly. "I was not ignoring your counsel––I simply chose a different path. I never intended for them to suffer longer than necessary."

His methodical tone frustrated her.

"And who's to say what's necessary?"

"In this case, time told. It did not even take a day for the issue to resolve itself."

If he would be careless about the situation, then so would she.

"Then I guess there's no harm in what I did, either?" she said.

Hemery gritted her teeth and irritably pulled on the collar of her nightdress which threatened to slide down her shoulder from the weight of her shawl. Why could they not have had this conversation earlier when she was dressed?

Thorin did not seem to share her idea of fairness and shot her a dark look.

"And what if you had been mistaken? Would you answer for any damage made by Low's men?"

"I sincerely doubt there was any serious risk. Otherwise, I would not have gone down there," she said, willing him to believe her. "Low couldn't even come up with a decent story to begin with. He might be lyin' about the runaway girl, but he doesn't seem that inventive, to be honest."

"You jeopardized the safety of a prince and of this kingdom," he exclaimed, aggravated.

Hemery froze. She had never heard him raise his voice like that to anyone, much less to her. Thorin's rigid features lost their vehemence, but his words were still heated.

"It is of no consequence whether I agree with your estimation or not. I do not question your intent, but your fealty. You cannot take matters into your own hands and openly ignore my commands. By challenging my judgement, you challenge my power and make my seat open for attack. Injuring Kíli would make the entire kingdom vulnerable. Raise me from my sleep and harass me with your lectures of high morals if you must, but do not exploit my family to undo my will."

He took a breath, but did not halt in his tirade.

"You did not only expose Kíli to Blackwater pawns, but yourself. As long as you dwell in my mountain, your safety is my responsibility. I asked for your assistance because I believe you are invested in this kingdom. You must allow me to live up to my pledge and protect you in return."

Hemery felt her eyes burn. She had not considered that her actions could be interpreted as disloyal. She would hate for him to think she challenged his ability to govern. It had only been in this particular issue with Blackwater that she had found him unreasonable, that was all.

"I didn't––" she began, but her voice broke. "I just didn't want them to think you were as bad as them."

She forced herself to look at him. His commanding presence seemed to shrink in his bewilderment.

"He called you a tyrant," she explained. "I didn't want you to make it true by treatin' them unjustly."

Silence stretched. Thorin sighed, seemingly done with his rebuke.

"So––" Hemery said after a moment. "What happens now?"

"Nothing," he replied. "The border patrols are still looking for anything out of the ordinary. The men will stay here."

She drew breath to ask where when he intercepted her.

"In the higher levels," he explained. "They will have proper bedding, food, and natural light."

"But for how––"

"For as long as I see fit," he interrupted determinedly, closing the topic for discussion.

Hemery felt very tired. She had not slept all night, and she did not like the tense air between her and Thorin.

"Be grateful that all went well this night," he said, his voice softer. "I know I am."

Hemery followed him in order to see him out and close the door behind him, but he paused before opening the door, turning to face her. Very close now, he spoke.

"There was a time you trusted me without even knowing my name," Thorin said, his eyebrows knotted. "I wish you would try to do so again."

Hemery wanted to assure him she did trust him, but during the better part of that day, she had indeed doubted his means. That was why she had acted the way she had. Thoughtless. Faithless. And he knew it.

Finally, unable to speak, she nodded.

"Despite the manner in which it was performed, you did good work tonight," Thorin said.

Hemery was surprised to hear him admit it, though the satisfaction of his praise soon faded.

"But if you ever defy me like that again, I'll expel you from Erebor." His threat was in a low timbre that ran up her spine.

"I understand," she replied. "Sire."


	5. Chapter 5 - Unexpected Shifts

Chapter 5 – Unexpected Shifts

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><p>"That's bollocks. He would never expel you," Hanah said, exasperated amusement in her voice.<p>

Hemery and Hanah walked through the market in Dale, making their way home after their weekly visit with Lady Sigrid. Bror and Hanah's guard, Dagrún, followed them. Frost covered the ground, but with hoods and mittens, the air was bearable enough for a stroll through the market and up to the great entrance of Erebor.

"And even if he did, you never wanted to stay in Erebor anyway. You'd much rather live with Dwalin if it wasn't for me and Híli."

"You didn't see the look in his eyes," Hemery lamented. "Like I'm an enemy of the kingdom." There was not much she could do to change his mind now, so she settled for sighing and inviting her sister to cheer her up.

"It's just 'cause it's fresh. In a couple of days more you'll have embarrassed yourself in a new way and have somethin' completely different to agonize about."

Hemery kicked the frozen ground. "You're probably right. That's what's so awful."

"You shouldn't be too hard on yourself. In the end, somethin' good came out of it. You helped Low _and_ Erebor. Kíli told me how you stacked guilt like marble blocks on the poor man. You should have been a war master or a security chief with that kind of strategic mind manipulation skills. I don't know where you learned to do that."

"I just think too little and talk too much. Same as you."

"Oh, no. That must have come from some master class in Tirith. I never put my foot in it as badly as you." Hanah could not help but laugh.

"I wish I'd never left," Hemery groaned. "Everythin' feels so different. It's like I'm a stranger––like I don't have the right change anythin'. I should have just let Thorin do what he wanted and stayed out of it." She shook her head and pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat.

Hanah leaned closer. "Who cares what the stubborn, old goat thinks anyway," she said.

At last, Hemery joined her sister in the laughter. "Hush, damnit. Are you tryin' to get me banished?"

"I promise I'll come visit you when you work as a barmaid at The Dragon's Head," Hanah jested encouragingly.

"I'd prefer to be called a _server_ or _pint provider_, thank you very much," Hemery countered, following the joke.

Hanah laughed more. "And I promise I'll be very generous with my tip––"

"Amad," Híli called, interrupting Hanah.

The girl ran up to them as they entered the ante-room of the great entrance. Híli had stayed in the city, attending class, when Hanah and Hemery had left for Dale. Her guard, Nuhir, stood quietly by, patiently waiting to escort her to the next event of the day's agenda.

Híli took her mother's hand, walking with them and talking as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

"Brynja says there is no serpent in the river. But if it could swim up and down from the lake, how could anyone know for sure?"

Every day, Híli would return from class with another quote from her classmate, Brynja. Today it seemed they had discussed the possibility of water snakes. Suddenly, Hemery might have felt a bit guilty for conjuring the idea.

"A serpent in the Long Lake?" Hanah echoed.

"Like the snake demon you fought, Amad."

"The what now?"

Hemery laughed, ignoring Hanah's bewilderment. "Brynja's mother is a blacksmith who believes the world is a flat disc," she explained to Híli, rationally. "I wouldn't place to much stock in Brynja's expertise when it comes to natural phenomena."

"This is the first I've heard of any snake demon in the lake," Hanah said, turning to Hemery with a suspicious glare. "What have you been tellin' her?"

"It was kind of like a morality tale," Hemery skated. "A metaphor."

"A metaphor for what?" Hanah insisted.

Hemery was spared the inquisition when a dwarf approached them at the top of the stairs. It looked like she had been waiting for them. Hemery recognized her as Vánnur, one of Thorin's personal guards.

"Miss Hemery," Vánnur greeted. "King Thorin summons you."

Hemery froze. What was it this time? Had she unwittingly made another mistake? Or was it something she had done earlier that he had just recently found out about?

"What for?" she blurted ineloquently, hoping for a clue.

"I couldn't say, Miss," Vánnur answered blankly.

Hemery sighed, looking at her sister. Hanah looked back with empathy this time, not mockery, pressed her lips together in a tight smile and squeezed Hemery's hand.

Híli seemed to sense the tension between the sisters. "Perhaps he needs your help stamping wax on his letters? I help him with that sometimes, but I've been in class today."

Hemery cracked a smile at that. "Could be," she agreed. "I'd better go straight away then."

With a feeling of walking to her execution, she followed Vánnur past hers and her sister's rooms to Thorin's chambers at the other end of the corridor, where the south wing met the west on the third floor.

Vánnur knocked and let her in, but stayed outside herself. Hemery had never been inside Thorin's rooms before. It was quite similar to Fíli's study, only larger, and with grander furnishings.

Thorin looked up from the parchments on his desk, a quill still in his hand.

"There you are," he rumbled. "I was beginning to think you decided to leave the mountain again."

"I came as soon as I could," Hemery replied politely. She resented that he would assume she avoided his summons. She would have liked to ignore it, but she could not, so she did not.

"Yet I called for you hours ago."

"I'm not in your employ. I'm under no obligation to––"

"Am I your king?" he snapped.

"Yes, Sire," she said carefully, reigning in her temper. She did not want to create another conflict due to unnecessary defiance, but he seemed intent on goading her into it.

"So you acknowledge I have the right to summon you when I wish?"

His tone returned to its indifferent drawl so quickly that she wondered which mood was the genuine one.

"Within reason," she added with a nod.

Thorin's piercing stare left her to focus on the parchment on the desk. He swiftly scribbled something, an emphasising line and a determined dot, before dropping the quill into an inkbottle and standing up.

Leaving his desk, he motioned for her to join him by the fireplace. Grateful, she sat in one of the big armchairs, pulling her coat from her shoulders and removing her shawl. The hood had disturbed her hair knot. She felt errant strands at her temples and on her neck, but there was no use in trying to fix them without redoing the whole thing.

Thorin waited until she had stilled in her seat before speaking in a low voice.

"It's been two weeks," he said in tired frustration. "Two weeks and the patrols yield no result. We have found no more agents from Blackwater. Nothing to support or condemn Tarren Low and his men."

Hemery listened, attentive now.

"Soon it will be too cold to travel between Erebor and Blackwater. As you've been so good to informed me, we may not incarcerate them all winter without charges." He glanced at her with a knowing look, as if he reluctantly saw the truth in the statement. "I don't particularly care to feed them for the duration, either."

"Do you think they'll continue their search if you let them go?" she asked.

"Perhaps." He drummed one finger on his armrest, thoughtfully.

Hemery did not like the idea that a lonely girl out in the forest would be hunted by a group of rangers to be caught and returned to her mad griffin of a mother, pinned down and paralysed by crushing claws.

"If she is their daughter, as Mister Low seems to believe," Thorin said, "we have little right to keep them from searching every cave and fox hole between here and there. We can only guard our border."

"Is it that simple?" Hem wondered. "If there is a girl, how do we know she's their daughter and not some poor soul tryin' to escape them like Hanah?"

"We cannot foresee every eventuality, taking every possibility into account," he said.

Hemery closed her eyes briefly, sighing. She knew he was right. Her head hurt from trying to calculate the most likely scenario, the best cause of action.

"And if you keep them here, you will worsen the already infected relation with Blackwater," she added, more to remind herself than Thorin.

The warmth of the fire infused her blood and muddled her mind a bit after her time outdoors. Tired, she leaned one elbow on her armrest, rubbing her eye. There was no right or wrong in this situation, just difficulties.

She found him watching her. Perhaps he waited for her to share her conclusion?

"I think you should let them go," she said softly. No irritation, no command––just her sincere opinion. "Have some guards escort them to the edge of the kingdom, give them some bread, and tell them to drag their miserable arses back home," she suggested with a shrug.

Thorin did not smile, but his eyes glinted slightly in the firelight. She recognised the concealed amusement from when she was younger. It was enough to encourage her.

"I'm sure you'll add a warnin' or a sufficiently terrifying threat in there somewhere to keep them from comin' back. Or at least make them think twice about it," she added dryly, smirking.

A smile tugged at his mouth, but he did not let it out. He just nodded in agreement.

"Visual and venomous, I promise," he said.

Hemery grinned, but his steely scrutiny did not lessen after she had told him what he wanted to hear. She had to look away, shifting her eyes to the embers.

When he did not speak again, she wondered if that was all he wished to discuss with her. And why had he wanted to discuss it with her at all?

"What does Balin and Fíli say?"

"Regarding?" he asked, as if he had already forgotten what they had talked about.

"Low and his men," she explained. "Do they agree?"

This time Thorin looked away.

"I have not asked their opinion, though I'm sure they will be relieved," he admitted, as if he was suffering from the way people constantly disagreed with him.

So he had decided to release Low? And she helped him reach this decision? Hemery was surprised, but glad.

"Why would you not ask them? Why me?" she asked carefully.

"I will finally do what you wanted all along," he countered with a glare. "Are you not satisfied?"

Hemery bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Clearly, he did not want to tell her.

"Of course, Sire," she said, pacifying him with a respectful dip of her chin. "I just thought they would be able to counsel you better than I could," she said, purposely modest.

He was silent a moment, as if deliberating whether she deserved to know the reason.

"I prefer to not consult Balin and my nephews often," he finally said. "It is better for them."

"How so?" she asked, confused.

Thorin gestured vaguely with one hand, as if balancing something back and forth, weighing his words.

"It provides a certainty and confidence in me that I need them to utilise in other areas. If they are not involved in all decisions, they are not aware of any doubt or indecision I may experience before executing them."

Astonished, Hemery listened to his confession. "And how often does this happen?"

He frowned, suddenly. "I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I do not require their handholding regardless of whether I may or may not struggle with moral dilemmas."

"Of course not, Sire," she pursed her lips and shook her head, trying to look nonchalant and not laugh.

"You, on the other hand, are mankind and have insights into the attitudes and behaviours of Blackwater," he explained.

Hemery was glad she was able to help, especially after their previous problems, but any appreciation he showed seemed designed to be temporary.

"And since you don't hold any political power," Thorin continued, "your opinions about me or my actions are incomparable to that of my council and does not affect the government of my court."

So she was merely an ear for him to vent to? Thinking about it, she was not surprised. That had always been her function in the past.

"I understand," she said through tense teeth, "Sire."


	6. Chapter 6 - Unexpected Whispers

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: EquusGold, Cyphercat, dragynfyre18, Vanafindiel, FeeKilico, Skywolf42, Wraithangel17, Wynni, raeshell, and soloerauncomentario !

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><p>Chapter 6 – Unexpected Whispers<p>

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><p>Despite King Thorin's insistence that he could handle his own affairs, Hemery found herself summoned to court more and more often. It began with issues concerning Blackwater, but developed into any and all issues Thorin could not be bothered to handle due to laziness or indifference, particularly business regarding men in the neighbouring kingdoms.<p>

Two or three times a week, Hemery would hear a knock on her door and be brought to assembly. Every time, she had less and less preparation for whatever discussions were underway. And every time, she was forced to improvise compromises and milder penalties when agreements were violated and conventions were not followed. Sometimes, Thorin was not even present at the hearings, but left her to discuss the problems with Balin and the rest of the council. The new duties placed on her made her feel like a child again, unprepared and inexperienced, like the time when she was asked to punish Beren before a crowd of strangers.

Only once did she have a moment to speak to Thorin about it. She had just settled a dispute between two mining teams who claimed entitlement over the same vein of precious ore by saying they should extract the metal together, donate the profits to the house of healing, and consider themselves lucky they had a chance to mine in such a rich mountain at all. Tired of settling petty grievances, the council had agreed with her. When she approached Thorin afterwards, he had merely dismissed her insecurity, saying that she should not worry about how he and the council chose to conduct their business, but continue to do as he asked.

Hemery suspected he was merely relieved he did not personally need to wrestle every visitor, every dignitary, and every complainant who addressed the court, not caring how she resolved issues as long as she did not create more disputes.

Hemery rarely saw Thorin other than on his throne or at the head of the council table. He never occupied any of the chairs in the library when she was there, nor did she happen to come upon him in Dis' rooms, or in the corridors. He only ate supper with the rest of his family a couple of times a week, and he was always brief when beckoned to join the conversation. He always had been a dwarf of few words, Hemery recalled from her younger years, but she wondered if he was not more reticent now.

She presumed Blackwater still haunted his thoughts. It remained the ever-present threat, though no news reached them all winter.

Thus, the cold season passed in Erebor.

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><p>"I adore the spring," Sigrid said to Hanah, turning her face to the pale sun as they walked the streets of Dale. "Though it wakens both good and bad. The swindlers, thieves, and gamblers return like migrating birds. Or are roused from their holes like bears catching the scent of fresh game."<p>

Hanah knew Sigrid worried about her people constantly. According to her, misery was spreading in her city.

"We can't keep people from makin' poor decisions. Nor punish them for gullibility," Hanah said.

"True," Sigrid said. "I've always found a government works best when it governs least, but recently we've been forced to increase security everywhere. Esgaroth gets the brunt of the bandits. Fewer choose to come up the mountain because of the rumours of the harsh penalties in Erebor. But as people grow poor, soon it won't matter how heavy the law comes down on those who break it."

Hanah listened with a furrowed brow. Surely, there was some hope?

"My sister is workin' with the schoolmasters in Erebor to improve literacy. Perhaps even get free education for all who live in the mountain."

Sigrid laughed. "And who will pay for this philanthropic endeavour?"

"The state, hopefully." Hanah shrugged. She was not involved in the details, but from what Hemery told her, it seemed promising.

Sigrid nodded, thoughtfully. "If anyone can see it through, it's her."

"Many think it's a good idea, in the long term. Only dwarflings will benefit at the moment. The older bulls will not see the point, but their children will. All should be given the same opportunity to learn. In the end, education is the foundation of equality."

"Let me know how it goes. If it works, I may adopt the strategy."

The women came to the southern wall where the view down to Esgaroth was the clearest. The trees were just beginning to shift colours to light green, and the towers and flags of Esgaroth proudly broke the glimmering waves on the lake in the low valley.

"It's easy for me here. I have father who instils respect and love in the citizens still, but Bain is all alone down there."

"He has his council, surely?" Hanah asked.

"Aye, but they're weak. The city may have been rebuilt, but it never recovered. It's a hive. Too many people in poorly built homes. The northern climate forces villagers from all around to seek their fortune in the city. After every failed crop, we see hundreds of newcomers––nowhere to live, nowhere to work. We reckon over half of Esgaroth's circulating currency is bound to the black market. Stolen goods, mostly. They don't pay enough tax for Bain to keep eyes on everything that's happening. He can't keep the peace."

"Why does he not ask your father for help?"

"Pride, of course. And father doesn't want to undermine Bain's authority by stepping in unrequested."

And thus, Sigrid's hands were tied. Hanah thought it frustrating, not for the first time, the limited power of sisters and daughters, and even princes and kings. They stood in silent contemplation for a moment.

Sigrid turned her back on the view, leaning on the stone wall. Carefully, she met Hanah's gaze.

"Surely, there is no need for guile between you and I? We can speak freely, yes?"

Hanah had known Sigrid for eight years. She had never explicitly had to ask Hanah for her confidence.

"Of course." Hanah nodded.

"I know that king Thorin has . . . taken your sister under his wing," she began, looking at her beneath sharp eyebrows. "Such influence over the king and admittance into the council's sphere given to a young girl, it's––" She gathered her thoughts. "Unprecedented."

Hanah was not surprised. Hemery and Thorin had seemed to become friends when they had first moved to Erebor. She suspected that Thorin, like her, found solace in speaking with such an unspoiled, honest voice in a court full of sycophants and egocentrics. However, Hanah too had found it strange that Thorin would so openly ask her advice on issues regarding the entire kingdom.

"I understand it's unusual," Hanah agreed.

"It's more than that," Sigrid said. Her eyes flickered to the side, as if making sure no one overheard, or because she found it difficult to meet Hanah's eye. "It's cause for gossip."

Hanah did not like where the conversation was headed. She frowned.

"What sort of gossip?"

Sigrid gave her a pointed stare. "The unsavoury kind. Quite graphic suggestions about how a young lass would gain power over a lonely, old king."

Hanah gasped, outraged, but did not have time to form words to express it before Sigrid continued, stilling Hanah with a hand on her arm.

"Some even brazen enough to accuse her of witchcraft, befuddling his mind to do her bidding in court . . . as well as in bed."

"Who would dare say somethin' like that?" Hanah attempted to whisper, but it came out in an incredulous hiss. She did not care if people gossiped about the king, but Hemery was a woman of mankind without any title or position to protect her. One could question and eventually quench accusations against the king––not against unmarried, female smiths in a dwarven kingdom.

"Enough for it to have spread to Dale and Esgaroth. Most of it is in jest, but I thought you should know. I didn't want to burden Hemery––I know she's only trying to help. I'm leaving it up to you if she should be told or not."

Hanah scoffed in incredulity. "Well, what can be done?" She folded her arms, trying to calm herself.

Hemery was so young, she thought. Who could think so vile thoughts of her? That she would ensnare Thorin in some kind of carnal entrapment or perform dark magic on him to do her bidding? It boiled her blood to think anyone saw her in such light.

"There's no way to stop the slander. And even if I told her, she can't do anythin' about it. She won't refuse the king, and I know she'd rather die than explain to him why she can't attend court anymore. No––" She shook her head, rubbing her brow. "I'll let her live in peace as long as possible. As long as she's not comin' to harm."

Sigrid listened and nodded. Turning to gaze down the mountain once again, she let Hanah process what she had just learnt.

"Whatever shadows it brings in its long evenings," Sigrid said, "summer is too short."

The wind that reached them on the peak was still chilly.

"Aye," Hanah agreed. "Shorter and shorter for every year, it seems."


	7. Chapter 7 - Unexpected Taxation

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: Skywolf42, Wynni, Vanafindiel, and FeeKilico!

This was a bit rushed. Any spelling mistakes or other errors will be seen to. Thank you.

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><p>Chapter 7 – Unexpected Taxation<p>

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><p>Hemery ran down the stairs to the great hall, but stopped in front of the smaller door next to the throne room. Catching her breath, she saw Balin waiting for her.<p>

"Miss Skinner," he said formally, but his eyes betrayed him with an amused twinkle.

"I hear no screamin' yet," she said, bypassing pleasantries. "I take it they have not tried to kill each other?" She motioned to the people beyond the door.

"Don't be so sure," Balin replied. "Bain wants to lower the trade tax, hoping to get his way because of Esgaroth and Erebor's _special relationship._"

"Thorin hates mixing business with sentimentality. And he hates Bain," Hemery specified. "The man would have a better chance getting' lower taxes by comin' out and simply threatening to cut off our trade route through the lake."

Balin shook his head, unbothered. "He wouldn't dare."

"They're stubborn as goats, both of them. Who knows?"

"Erebor could establish new routes within a year or two. Esgaroth, on the other hand, would dry up––so to speak," he explained, smiling at his pun.

"Thorin feels too much responsibility towards Lake Town to let that happen."

"So much for his disdain of sentimentality," Balin said dryly.

"The dragon will never stop hauntin' you people." Hemery sighed.

Kíli opened the door to the assembly.

"They're just about to resume after lunch," he said.

"Good," Hemery said. "The last thing we need is a hungry––angrier than usual––king."

Kíli opened the door wider, allowing them inside. A big table of polished, black marble––Thorin and four other dwarves on one side, three men on the other. Several people stood along the walls, men as well as dwarves, guards and advisors.

One of the men at the table rose from his seat. The chair made a grating sound against the stone floor when it was pushed back.

"Lady Hemery," Bain exclaimed cheerfully, though the atmosphere in the room was quiet and tense. He was a man of five and forty, clean-shaven and tall, with a handsome posture. His hair was pushed back, gathered with a cord at the nape where grey mingled with brown locks.

Hemery had encountered him several times in formal settings during the last few months, finding him to be a pleasant man, but often carried a forced smile. Not that he was in any way false, but she thought that perhaps he was not as happy as he attempted to appear.

She smiled brilliantly at him and offered her hands when he approached her. Men did not shake women's hands in the same manner dwarves did. Instead, he took both her hands in his and held them while they exchanged greetings, thumbs moving in a light caress on her knuckles.

"I have not the honour of such a title, Lord Bain," Hemery said.

"And yet, I will bestow the honour upon you as often as I can," he replied merrily before he released her.

"I'd rather you bestowed honour on your agreements, m'lord," she said, tilting her head in question, inviting him to explain himself.

Bain had the decency to adopt a regretful face at that.

"Times change, my lady. Currency changes. What seemed reasonable yesterday does not seem so today," he said mournfully. "And His Majesty King Thorin does not see favourably on compromises," he added, addressing both her and the council.

Bain's melody sounded similar to the usual lilt of men who would rather be paid by Erebor than to pay Erebor. However, Bain was rarely anything but frank. And if he used the same kind of affected regret to gain sympathy, something was clearly wrong.

Hemery did not reply right away, neither did Balin or Kíli who had moved to stand next to Thorin's chair. No one sat at the king's table unless asked, and he had not uttered a word. He merely leaned back in his seat, hands leisurely on the armrests, and followed the conversation with a certain annoyed disinterest.

Hemery let the silence stretch as she moved to a sideboard where servants had readied tea. She added milk and sipped her cup before speaking again.

"Erebor has conducted trade here since before either of us were born," Hemery said, keeping her voice clear and even, but soft, in order to neither confirm nor dismiss his argument. "If anyone knows time, it's these noble dwarves."

She swept her hand toward the table of council members.

"You and I both admire their wisdom which they have gained through that time. The kind of time we could never dream of experiencin'." She talked of her and Bain as if they were the same, to indicate a familiarity and her understanding of his perspective.

"Where is the reason we cannot find an agreement?" Hemery smiled pleasantly so he could find no offense in her words.

"The terms are agreeable," Bain said, as if this had been his opinion the whole time. "But conditions demands we build a new house of healing. I didn't want to burden you with my problems, but . . ." He sounded genuinely concerned. "There was a tragedy at the old house, a devastating fire that spread quickly. It was impossible to save. That's why we need this exemption, you see. Expenses have unexpectedly risen."

Hemery kept her face blank, but glanced at the king and the others. Thorin made no attempt to interfere. He merely stroked his bearded chin as if in contemplation or boredom––she could never tell which. Hem focused on Bain once more.

"That's truly a tragedy. Except––" Hemery's eyebrows knitted in thought. "As I understand it, that house was condemned. Was it not supposed to be torn down?"

"It was good for a few more years," Bain defended.

"Yet, the house was empty when the fire started. It was soon contained, and no one was hurt. That's hardly a tragedy."

"That fire destroyed two thousand square feet of my city's foundation––"

"The tragedy is that you use this convenient accident as leverage in your bargain," Hemery maintained, "despite the fact that your office has not paid their taxes in full for years. The money saved there should surely be enough to build ten new houses of healing––even on water. I suggest you find the missin' funds so you can start reconstruction."

Bain's eyes revealed the feverish activity in his mind, trying to come up with some way to sway her. She knew Bain did not have it easy as lord of Lake Town, but she also knew Erebor could not keep making exceptions for him without being forced to do the same for others. He had to find a way to solve his financial issues. It was his duty.

"You would hold old mistakes against us in time of need?" he asked.

His voice was bordering on the accusation, and Hem felt a flare of stress in her chest. Thorin would not stand for much more of this. She had to wrap it up.

"Apples," she exclaimed. "You may have lower tax on apples."

Bain almost snorted. "That's absurd."

"Why, because they rot when hoarded in vaults? Yes, that would be absurd, but don't say the king never compromises." Hemery smiled tightly.

Bain looked at the king, probably to protest, but whatever he saw there made his jaw clench in resignation. She was prepared for a different opinion from the council, but there was nothing. She feared they found Bain's wish even more inappropriate than she did.

Hem's gaze remained on Bain. He smiled without mirth as he approached her.

"I understand. I thank His Majesty King Thorin for his time. And I apologize for wasting yours."

She smiled her brilliant smile again, trying to diffuse the last of the tension.

"I truly believe Erebor and Esgaroth will continue to thrive side by side." Hemery refrained from saying _together_, making it clear the respective cities would be kept separate and that he was on his own.

"Of course, my lady."

"I'll see you out," she said, holding out a hand as an invitation for him to escort her from the room.

They walked through the great corridor, Bain's men and Bror behind them. Hemery wondered who of Bain's advisors had found it a wise idea to bring this request to Thorin. Despite her answer in the assembly, she sincerely hoped Bain would manage to regain control of his city.

"Will this be brought to rest, m'lord?" she asked as they moved away from the meeting room.

Bain looked at her, a friendly softness in his eyes once more.

"You look well, Lady Hemery," he said, changing the subject. "The south seemed to agree with you."

Hemery had loved her time in Minas Tirith, but the fulfilment of learning was a temporary satisfaction. She had longed to return to the Lonely Mountain where she could put her knowledge to use together with her family. At the time, she had no idea just how much she would have use of her knowledge of the cultures of dwarves and men.

"The north agrees with me better," she stated with a content smile.

"Your talents are wasted on these fossils," he said.

Hemery glanced around her, furtively making sure no one heard him. She knew Bain paid her a compliment, a conspiratorial jest between the two of them, but this was an aspect of men she did not miss from her time in Tirith. She could never forgive men's natural instinct to look down on dwarves––no pun intended. Dwarves were stubborn, suspicious, and hot-tempered, but never did they mock other races as men so easily did.

She smiled patiently. "My talents are my own, m'lord, to use as I see fit."

"Curious how you should choose to . . . forfeit your life to serve a dwarven king," Bain mused.

"Forfeit?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Does he not demand your presence whenever he chooses? At all hours of the day?"

Sure, sometime it was early morning or late night, but she would rather he called her when he needed to than to delay important business. Of course, it was _Thorin's_ business, not hers. And she still did not know why he placed this responsibility on her when he had others in his employ that could just as well do what she did.

"Not all hours of the day. It's a great honour to aid the council. Balin is an old friend, and Kíli is like a brother to me," she stated, facing forward with her chin up.

Hemery could make up excuses to Bain or anyone else who asked, but she knew why she did not refuse Thorin. When he summoned her and when she spoke before the council, she felt good. She felt like she did something worthwhile, even if it was just slapping the wrist of some tavern manager for using the wrong waste disposal tunnels. She felt like she helped the people of Erebor––that she was a part of Erebor. And if she happened to please Thorin in the process, she would gladly attend court every day.

"And what of Thorin?" Bain asked. "What is he to you?"

Guileless as Hemery was, distanced from the formal setting of the meeting room, she immediately over-thought the question. Thorin was the uncle of her brother-in-law, but also not. Fíli and Hanah were not married. Thorin was the great uncle to her niece. Yes, that was true. But it did not answer why she attended court on his request. Were they friends? She had asked herself this many times, but found all answers unsatisfactory. He was not her friend like Balin, Kíli, or Dwalin. No one was like Thorin. And Thorin did not have friends.

"He's––" Surprise at his forwardness made her stutter. "He's my king." It was the most honest and simple answer to a very difficult question.

Bain nodded, thinking about her response. "Take care, Lady Hemery. I would hate for you to lose yourself in these tunnels."

His concern was real, but she did not quite understand what he meant. Did he not think it proper for her, as mankind, to attend to a dwarven court? Not wishing to extend this line of conversation any longer, she smiled nonchalantly.

"Thank you for your consideration, m'lord, but rock walls can't hold me."

"If you change your mind, you can always come work for me," he said.

She pursed her lips, as if considering her proposal. "Get yourself some new accountants, and we'll talk," she jested.

He chuckled, squeezing her hand one last time.

Hemery left Lord Bain at the end of the corridor before returning to the meeting hall. As she neared the closed doors, she could hear heated voices on the other side. She entered swiftly, fearing the council disapproved of the result of the day's discussion. But most of them had dispersed, only Thorin, Kíli, and Balin remained.

"Next time, I shall cut off his greedy hands," Thorin growled to Balin before he noticed Hem's presence and fell quiet.

Hemery hurried to close the door behind her.

"Please," she hissed forcefully. "Keep it down. He's barely out the door."

Thorin turned away, clearly still agitated. Balin and Kíli averted their eyes as well, as if they had been discussing something too sensitive for her ears.

Was there some part of Bain's problems Hemery was unaware of? She thought she had done rather well; the council did not want to agree to Bain's wishes, and she managed to send him home without too much resistance.

"What's the matter?"

No one spoke.

"I hope you're not unhappy with my performance," she said, uncertain now.

Balin approached her then, smiling tensely, and motioned for her to join him outside. He was careful not to touch her.

"Gratitude, Miss Hemery. Yer assistance is invaluable, as always."

He obviously used the compliment to get rid of her so the dwarves could speak privately.

"Fine," she settled, taking a calming breath. She had realised long ago that people would always infuriate her, and it was always in her best interest to not show it.

"If anyone needs me," she said, "I'll be in Hanah's workshop––not to be disturbed."

Hemery turned on her heel and left them to their secrets.

Admittedly, she was not a member of the king's council, he did not even pay her for her time, but she would feel much more secure in her tasks if they allowed her insight to every aspect of the problem. She felt like she was treading water when they shut her out like that.

* * *

><p>The next few days were quiet. Hemery spent the mornings with Dis and the schoolmasters, going through the details of the new education system. The afternoons she spent working with Hanah.<p>

"There's smoke comin' from the ridge," Hanah said one day as they sat down in her shop.

Hemery froze, staring at her sister. Hanah had a needle in her hand and a thimble on her fingertip, pushing through thick leather without pause when she returned the look.

"What kind of smoke?" Hem asked stupidly.

"Fire smoke from Blackwater," Hanah clarified. "Sigrid saw it from her yard this mornin'. A big fire, she reckoned."

"Is the town destroyed?" Hemery did not know how she felt about that. Gleeful with a tint of shame, or concerned?

"Most of the houses are stone, but the landlord's is not." Hanah pursed her lips in thought.

Hem's thumbnail dug distractedly into the bread bun in her hand. "Is there any news? Any way to know for sure?"

"No, but Thorin is plannin' to find out what's happened," Hanah frowned. "He and Kíli are leavin' in two days."

"They're actually goin' to Blackwater?" Hemery felt a trickle of ice along her spine.

"Will you go with them?"

Hanah's question baffled Hem. She shook her head. "No, they haven't asked me. I didn't even know about it until you told me."

Hanah smiled crookedly. "I meant that I want you to go with them."

"Why?"

"He's takin' a small company, only fifty dwarves on horseback. It's personal for Thorin, otherwise he'd send Fíli, and I would go with him."

Hemery's mind reeled. So few. If Thorin angered the landlords, which he would, the fifty dwarves would be too few to defend themselves.

Hanah caught her gaze, looking at her with wide, expressive eyes.

"They must not come into conflict. You know Thorin, he has a temper––they all do," Hanah said, rolling her eyes. "Will you go with them? He listens to you."

Hemery snorted and rubbed her eyes. She had not even been able to persuade Thorin to give a blanket to a freezing man from Blackwater, much less stop him from antagonising people who already hated him.

"He does," Hanah insisted. "I don't want you to go back there. I really don't. But I know the landlady is as deranged as she is vile. You can navigate them through a confrontation. You can make sure those dwarves come back alive and that this doesn't escalate into violence between the cities."

Hemery sighed, looking back at Hanah.

This was not her job. Thorin had not asked her to come. And she definitely did not want to go. If she did, Hemery feared she would be the one to bring violence on the Brages.

But she would do anything Hanah asked her to. And if her influence could spare even one life, of course she would go.

She sat up straight in her chair, stroking her hair and following the strands to the tight knot at the back. Taking a deep breath, she nodded in determination.

"Sure," Hemery said.

* * *

><p>At dinner, Thorin was nowhere to be seen.<p>

Kíli sat next to Hemery, regarding her with a worried frown. "So will you come?"

Hem glanced at Hanah accusingly. Had Kíli put her up to this? Surely not. Hemery was convinced Hanah meant every word she had said.

"Don't worry, Kíli," Hanah said, smiling innocently. "Hem will protect you."

His appetite seemed to return with a vengeance at hearing this news, loading his plate with food.

"Praise Mahal. For a while there, I feared I was setting out towards my doom."

"I haven't done anythin' yet," Hemery said. She had not had time to properly grasp the idea that she was going back to that cursed place after ten years.

"Your presence will be a comfort in itself," Dis said, complacent. "I, for one, will sleep soundly knowing you're all there together. It's a great service you are rendering us all."

"Now, there's only one more thing to do," Fíli said conclusively.

"What's that?" Hemery asked.

"Tell Uncle, of course," Fíli smirked.

Hemery's stomach flipped. He did not know? Was this all Hanah's and Fíli's idea?

Fortunately, Fíli and Kíli would do the telling and she would do the accompanying. This time, it suited her fine.

"Where are you going?" Híli asked from across the table, looking curiously at the adults around the table.

"Ehm––" Hemery began uncertainly. "You remember that snake demon I told you about––?"

"_Híli_," Hanah loudly interrupted Hemery's attempt at an explanation. "I'll explain later, love."


	8. Chapter 8 - Unexpected Rhymes

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: Vanafindiel, EquusGold, Skywolf42, FeeKilico, Dragynfyre18, Wraithangel71, raeshell, ThisIsMyGuise, and chichi!

Song inspired by Gjallarhorn - Tova Och Konungen

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><p>Chapter 8 - Unexpected Rhymes<p>

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><p>"I told you––you didn't have to come," Hemery said over her shoulder to Kíli as they weaved through people in the streets of Dale, Kíli's guards and Rán trying to keep up, all heading to The Dragon's Head.<p>

She pulled her coat tighter around her. The sun was setting, leaving a frosty spring evening in its wake.

"If you think I'd leave my lucky charm to go gallivanting through taverns by herself, getting drunk and starting fights before we even leave for Blackwater, you're very much mistaken. At least not without me."

Hemery rolled her eyes. As soon as he had heard she was going to seek Dwalin at the tavern after dinner, he had invited himself.

"You sound responsible enough, but you'd seize any and all opportunities to have a pint," Hem said.

"One does not exclude the other. And I'd seize any opportunity to have a pint with my wee sister," he said sickly sweet, throwing a hefty arm around her neck.

"Uh, get off," Hemery grunted, trying to escape from under the suffocating weight, but could not suppress a smile. "And if you postpone fulfillin' your duties for a few hours because of your pint, I'm sure you don't mind, either?"

"I'm prepared to put my agenda aside to escort you to these seedy establishments any time, m'lady," he replied, showing all his white teeth in a wide grin. His dark locks tickled her cheek as he bent to touch his forehead to her temple in camaraderie. "Now that you're a grown lass, you'll be my new drinking partner since Fíli's become all stuffy and stay-at-homey."

"Thanks for makin' me your second choice," Hemery said wryly.

"No, no––you're my third. Dwalin's my second, but he lives too far away. No, I need someone who is just down the hall."

Hemery frowned, but had to admit she saw his reasoning.

"Strangely enough, I actually understand that. But you saw how well I did in Tirith. Don't you want someone whose digestion is a little more . . . dwarvish?"

She knew she would never be able to withstand as much strong drink as Kíli or Dwalin. She chuckled just trying to imagine it.

"Did you think I taught you that trick because I like to watch you choke and waste good ale?" Kíli ruffled her hair playfully. Hemery did not find it endearing or funny, swatted his hands away, and tried to fix her hair. The knot was intact, but had lost its hold and came to rest on her neck in shapeless ringlets. She tutted with extreme annoyance and raised her hood.

"Yes, you were highly amused, as I recall," she replied, glaring at him.

"Well, that too, but first and foremost, I was preparing you for the reality of the competitive northern taverns," he proclaimed seriously, tucking his thumbs into his belt as he walked in long strides, holding his stubbled chin high. "Can't have my apprentice falling asleep like a snot-nosed stable boy after only five pints. That won't do at all."

"Five pints? _Ha_," she exclaimed in incredulity. "Good luck. I vomit after three."

Kíli narrowed his eyes, pointing a short but strong finger at her accusingly. "You've been slacking in your training."

"Which training is that? The one where I become the best sword fighter east of the Misty Mountains, or the one where you turn me into a cross-eyed slug? I only have time and energy to commit to one field, and we both know which one I'll choose."

"Hmpf," Kíli huffed in derision. "Never pegged you for a quitter, Skinner."

"I'm not drinkin' five pints of that horse sedative you call refreshments, Kíli. It's not gonna happen."

Rán opened the door to The Dragon's Head, sweeping the great room with her sharp eyes before letting the rest in.

As usual, the room was crowded and rowdy. Lanterns hung from wooden beams in the high ceiling, casting a warm light on the merry guests. As it was getting late, most of them had already had supper and had moved on to drinking. Some played card or dice games, and a group was singing and playing music by the far wall, next to the fireplace.

Hemery spotted Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, and Nori at a corner table. Kíli snatched up a couple of chairs as they made their way over, offering one to Hemery.

"Oy, look who's decided to join the big lads for a night out," Bofur called cheerfully when they sat. He rose halfway from his seat, attracting the attention of the barman with an inelegant wave.

"See," Kíli triumphed. "Bofur agrees with me."

"Oh, I see alright," Hemery said. "Trust dwarves to understimate the consequences of ale drinking."

She lowered her hood, but did not remove her coat. Bofur laughed insensitively at her hair, and she tried to order her disturbed, brown tresses. His continued chuckles told her any attempts were futile, or possibly that she made things worse.

"It´s Kíli's fault," she muttered.

Bofur calmed his amusement. "Can hardly tell the difference, love."

Despite the busy night, six fresh pints soon appeared on the table.

"Apologies," Hem addressed the barmaid. "I'm not havin' any."

Kíli put a hand, heavy like a snow shovel, on top of her pint. "We'll keep it, thanks," he said, smiling at the serving girl. She, in turn, rolled her eyes at their antics and left, clearly too busy care.

"Rule number one," Kíli said sternly, turning to Hem. "If it's free, you drink it."

Hemery sighed. She guessed she could have one taste, though she did not much care for it since her experience last time with ale in combination with Kíli and Bofur.

"Rule number two," Dwalin grumbled. "Never listen to anythin' Kee tries to teach ye."

Hemery smiled at him gratefully, before pushing the full tankard toward Kíli.

"What is yer purpose here, lass, if not to quench yer thirst?" Dwalin asked, leisurely taking a long swig of his drink.

She wanted to object towards his chosen phrase, but realised he most likely genuinely considered ale to be better than water for slaking thirst.

Hemery glanced at Balin. "I take it you've heard about Blackwater."

"Aye," Dwalin said, resting his elbows on the table, his face darkening. "Seems Thorin's finally grown a pair of––" he stopped himself, glancing at Hem.

Hemery was not a child; she knew what he had been about to say. But she still felt her cheeks blaze at the thought of any part of Thorin 'growing.' Nori snorted, as if hiding a snicker.

"Finally grown some sense," Dwalin quickly amended, "takin' the fight to them, instead of waitin' for the next disaster."

"So you think it's wise?" Hemery looked between Dwalin and Balin. "Thorin takin' only fifty dwarves to investigate whatever in Mahal's bloody name is goin' on over there?"

"It's the best opportunity he's had in a decade," Balin stated. "He'll not be swayed now." He shook his head.

It sounded as if he had tried, Hemery thought.

"Fifty dwarves can handle anythin' those troll-fuckers throws at them," Dwalin said confidently. He was apparently not averse to colourful language when it came to the Brages.

"It's not ideal, I agree," Balin said, ignoring Dwalin's arrogance. "But we have no reason to fear the meeting will result in conflict." His words were betrayed by his twitching eye.

Kíli, on the other hand, had total trust in the endeavour. "Especially not now when my silver tongued sister will be joining us," he said, grinning.

"You _what_?" Dwalin growled, slamming down his half-full tankard on the table.

Hemery jerked in surprise, and the others at the table drew back a bit, but none else took notice of the dwarf's outrage. He glared first at Kíli, then at Hemery.

"But––"Hem began, "you said yourself it was a good idea. That it was about time Thorin confronted them . . . or somethin' like that, I'm sure you said––"

"Never mind that," Dwalin barked. "Thorin may wage any war he pleases, but he's not draggin' you into the fray. Over my rotten carcass," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Hemery recoiled. She respected Dwalin's opinions as much as her sister's, but she was not sure if he spoke rationally or simply worried about her.

"But don't you think there's less risk of violence if I help?"

"Turning Brage's head could be trickier that turning Thorin's," Nori drawled lazily.

At that, Dwalin seemed to scowl at Nori with the fire of a hundred dragons.

Hemery frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Oy, none of that talk now," Bofur laughed tensely, trying to change the subject. "Tell us more about this suicide mission ye're venturin' out on," he encouraged Hemery, as if discussing a jolly summer holiday.

"Hanah asked me to go, not Thorin, and I'm not about to go back on my word," she said, determined.

Dwalin maintained a sour expression, as if having this conversation caused him stomach pains.

"You told me to always listen to my sister, remember?" Hem crossed her arms.

"Aye, until ye were old enough to make yer own judgements. Don't go agreein' to fools' errands just 'cause people ask ye nicely. Ye come in here askin' me if I think it's a good idea to go pokin' a sleepin' bear in its own den. But what do _you_ think?" he challenged.

Hemery thought a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. If she stayed home, she would worry about all the things that could happen to Thorin and Kíli and everyone who went with them. She could not stand doing nothing.

"It may not be a good idea," Hem said, tilting her head. "But it could get a lot worse if I don't go."

"If ye've already made yer mind up, why ask me?"

"Maybe I just wanted some reassurances, for once, instead of pessimism. Is it too much to ask for you to smile and say everythin will be fine?"

"Is it my responsibility to smile now?" Dwalin scoffed.

Hemery sighed and slumped down in her chair. She guess it was too much to ask.

The music and raucous surroundings filled the air for a few moments as no one at the table spoke.

Kíli cleared his throat awkwardly. "And besides," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "We haven't asked Uncle yet if he'll let her come with us."

Dwalin watched him beneath dark, bushy eyebrows. "So it's not settled?"

Hemery avoided his eyes, shrugging. "No," she admitted.

Dwalin's shoulders relaxed at that. "Well then, I'd not go saddlin' any ponies just yet if I were you." He took another long swig from his drink.

The music and noise once again penetrated Hemery's senses. The room was sweltering and the lack of fresh air made her almost feel inebriated without drinking anything. She was pulling off her coat when she noticed Bofur's and Nori's focus had turned to the musicians. Stilling, she tried to hear what they were playing.

_The king and his court is like husband and wife_

_Gold coins and fine maids cause the greatest strife_

_If I were as fair, say those who dare_

_as the gold-spinning lass_

_my King's lust would never pass_

Intrigued by an unfamiliar melody and Bofur's and Nori's obvious interest, Hemery listened to the words while Kíli and Balin continued to discuss details of the upcoming trip.

_Lords harken to prattle_

_made only less bitter_

_by lips smooth as butter_

_and lashes that batter_

_._

_She acts a maiden brittle_

_Spells in the king's ear mutter _

_Silk dresses flutter_

_and servants chatter _

_._

_The king and his court is like husband and wife_

_Gold coins and fine maids cause the greatest strife_

_If I were as fair, say those who dare_

_As the gold-spinning lass_

_My King's lust would never pass_

"What is it about?" Hemery asked Bofur. "I've never heard it before."

"Not rightly sure," he evaded, but the way he worriedly glanced at Dwalin made her think he did. And an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

_She made him think he caught her_

_Perchance let him pluck her_

_When speared, she doth smile_

_King fooled by her guile_

Hemery gasped and covered her mouth at the vulgar imagery. Hemery had not visited The Dragon's Head for some time, and never at such a late hour, but she could never recall such entertainment being offered at the establishment. The crowd nearest the singer, fiddler, and the flute player cheered and laughed merrily.

Suddenly, Dwalin rose from his seat so forcefully that his chair toppled over. Swiftly, he approached the musicians, elbowing his way through tall men until he was able to rip the bow from the fiddler's hand and break it in his fist. He threw it in the fireplace and stared them down.

When he spoke, his voice was like thunder, the consonants rolling like a dog's growl.

"If ye play that in here one more time, I'll break yer fingers, punch yer teeth in, and shove that flute up yer arse so ye'll never sing, play, or even whistle for yer bleedin' dog ever again in yer miserable lives."

Hemery had not seen him nearly this livid since that night two years ago when she had stayed out late with a friend from the academy in Tirith––a male friend.

Dwalin was furious and menacing, his forehead reddening, and his massive arms flexed as he pointed at each person to emphasise his words. Sensing trepidation, Kíli and Nori had followed him, but refrained from calming him. In a fight, they would probably have helped him––in the rare instance they thought he needed it.

Even if Dwalin had not scared the trio so badly that they decided to end their performance for the evening, everyone at the tavern knew who Dwalin was. No one doubted he would execute his threat.

Dwalin returned to his seat. Kíli righted his chair, sparing Dwalin the minimal effort of bending to retrieve it. Only a small frown remained on his face as he sat, his rage deflating quickly.

"Dwalin," Hemery began softly, but clear enough to be heard over the noise that had continued around them. "Did you . . . not like the music?" she asked stupidly, completely at a loss.

"Someone recitin' a lewd verse in time with a wavin' fiddlestick is not music."

"We've heard plenty of rude verses in here before without you throwing a fit," Kíli said.

"Well, other verses do not include real people," he growled.

Hemery felt as if someone had pushed her under the ice of a frozen lake. She stared at him in disbelief.

"Who was it about?"

Dwalin sighed. Without meeting her eyes, he took a swig of his ale.

"Who was it?" Hemery asked again, louder.

He refused to answer.

"'Tis nothing, Miss Hemery," Balin said instead, shaking his head with a kind smile. "Do not take it as reality of people's opinion. It is merely in jest, though . . . rarely amusing when aimed at oneself."

Hemery thought about this. So people talked about her. And about the king. About her_ and_ the king. She had thought she was doing something good for the people, that she did it well. But she guessed this was what happened when one stepped out of the shadows and into the court. She herself had made fun of the king long before she knew him. Who was she to judge?

But what if people disapproved of her involvement. She was only a girl of men playing at politics, after all.

She turned to Kíli, speaking in a small voice. "May I have a pint, please?"

"Of course," he replied, surprised.

Dwalin awakened from his own thoughts. "Another," he bellowed, holding his tankard in the air. Some of the remaining ale sloshed out as he did so.

"What's wrong with the one you have?" Kíli asked, glancing at the three quarters left.

Dwalin raised it to his lips and drained the cup in a matter of moments, putting it down with a clank when he was finished. "It's empty," he replied, burping.

"Rule three," Nori said. "Never listen to drunk dwarves."


	9. Chapter 9 - Unexpected Strikes

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: EquusGold, Bestbuds55, Skywolf42, dragynfyre18, Wynni, FeeKilico, Kayia's Watergarden, Wraithangel71, Rhyska Nevar, guest, and Obsessed!

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><p>Chapter 9 – Unexpected Strikes<p>

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><p>"I shouldn't be here," Hemery said to Kíli and Fíli as they entered the training area.<p>

"Why ever not?" Kíli asked, propelling her along with a hand on her back when she dawdled at the entrance.

"You've been at the range before, surely?" Fíli said, unbothered by her reluctance.

"Well, yes, but never when the soldiers are here––in groups," she replied as they passed two dwarves in full armour, pummelling each other with hammers so forcefully that she feared something might come flying their way. Hem ducked down a little, instinctively, quickly moving along.

Hemery mostly trained with Dwalin at his house, so she never had any need of going here unless she wanted to do some target practice when the weather was disagreeable. Dwalin strongly objected to such luxuries, claiming that the weather would not turn when danger appeared and that she should be able to grasp a knife or a sword even if her hands were frozen numb.

"It's fine. Just don't look anyone in the eye––they'll see at as a challenge," Kíli said.

"A challenge for what?" Hem asked, wide eyed.

"A fight." Fíli smiled at her, clearly imagining her on one of the hexagonal platforms, facing a war master with an axe and hammer. The platforms meant for sparring were a metre higher than the ground, built thus to evoke incentive to not be pushed by your opponent and fall off.

Hemery swiftly looked away from any passing dwarves, shielding her periphery with one hand, focusing on following Fíli and Kíli. Also to not gawp at the sweat soaking through the thin shirts of the dwarves who were shedding their armour, heading for the saunas at the bathhouse next door.

"Uncle," Fíli called out, catching the attention of two dwarves engaged in combat on a hexagon. Thorin and Steig––one of Thorin's personal guards.

Rather than pausing, Thorin merely glanced at the visitors before continuing the session, barely distracted as he spoke.

"The directives have been given––we leave at first light," he stated, seemingly to Fíli, though it did not stop him from executing a series of offensive strikes with his sword and quickly moved away when attacked in return.

"I know," Fíli said. "But we need to have words still."

"I've said all I have to say on the matter," Thorin bit out. "I'm going, and that's final." Whether the terse tone was annoyance at the conversation or exertion from keeping his opponent at bay was difficult to tell.

"Yet I have not, Uncle," Fíli said. He was not intimidated by the king's gruff attitude. It was something Hemery admired about him, but she would never admit it of course.

"I agreed to stay here," Fíli went on, "while you and Kíli venture on this . . . pilgrimage, but I require that Miss Hemery accompany you."

"Out of the question," Thorin replied instantly, not even looking their way as swords clashed. Hem was no expert on the art of swords, but it looked more like they competed in raw strength rather than disarmament.

"She knows the location, the people, the town––" Fíli said. "She would be an asset."

Hemery said nothing. She had not set foot in Blackwater for ten years, being no more than a child when she left; she did not know how much help she would be in that respect.

Thorin beat back his opponent with one final powerful blow, forcing Steig off the platform to land heavily on his stiff armour.

"Victory acknowledged," Steig groaned to formally end the session. "Very good, Sire." He awkwardly came to his feet, rigidly making his way over to a bench to remove his armour.

Thorin nodded to Steig, then turned to Fíli. "I'm not having this conversation," he said. He did not seem pleased by the victory. His shoulders were still tense, as if on guard. He stepped off the platform, walking to the bench where he kept his sword sheath.

"Evidently." Fíli followed him. "But I am. I insist Hemery goes with you."

Thorin ignored him, scrutinising his sword, running a thumb along the edge to check for damage.

Fíli stepped closer, speaking low but clearly. "Relations have never been less predictable with Blackwater. How can we have the slightest idea of what to expect––what kind of reception you'll get?"

"We're simply concerned neighbours, investigating the devastating fire," Thorin said smoothly, smirking at Steig who stood near, unlacing a pauldron. Steig laughed at Thorin's obvious jest, or lie––whichever one preferred.

"Only they won't see it that way," Hemery said, unable to keep quiet when she realised how much Thorin relished the chance to confront Brage. "You're not goin' to repair diplomatic ties or lend a helpin' hand––you're seekin' revenge."

"If I wanted vengeance, I would send Steig to poison them in their sleep, not ride into town to knock on their front door," Thorin mocked.

"I don't believe you've waited ten years just to be friends with them again," Hemery mimicked his derision.

"Ten years is no time to wait if I attain what I crave."

"To me, it's an eternity," Hemery said, thinking of how everything had changed for her in only five years, not to mention ten. "A lot can happen in ten years."

Thorin took a step toward her. "And what if the worst was to happen? Suppose there will be violence. You have no place in my army. I will not be responsible for your safety outside this mountain." His words were flat, his eyes cold.

Hemery wanted to knock him on the head with the handle of his own sword. Did he not get it? "My presence is meant to prevent open conflict."

"But if you cannot?" he persisted. Thorin seemed to count on it.

Hemery sighed. Count on dwarves to anticipate a fight with such fervour. She was glad Dwalin had taught her all he knew about defence before moving on to offense. Despite the extensive training he had given her in how to wield blades, she had only been allowed to practice with a real sword a few times. But she knew she could survive if nothing else.

She put her hands on her hips, shoulders back like Dwalin always said, making her as tall as she could. "Don't worry about me. I can hold my own," she said.

Thorin's eyes pierced her like steel, unflinching. Could he see how much she doubted her own words?

"Is that so?" Steig snorted, seemingly amused by the juxtaposition of her confident words and her unimpressive frame.

Hemery folded her arms. She was not letting herself be goaded into an arm wrestling match or something equally silly with a seasoned warrior.

"Miss Hem's been trained by Dwalin himself," Kíli said to her defence. Hem snapped her eyes to glare at him. Kíli was not helping.

"Oh," Steig jested in feigned awe, "well, in_ that_ case . . . Care to show evidence of this thorough 'training'?"

"I don't care to make a spectacle on the king's trainin' grounds," she replied, clenching her jaws.

"Because you're afraid you'll not hold up so well against a_ real_ warrior of the king's army?"

Hemery fumed. How dare he insult Dwalin to her face? Fíli and Kíli said nothing, probably intrigued by the idea of witnessing Hemery's skills. They had never seen her train or fight, after all, and they viewed any brawl as entertainment. Thorin said nothing. But she refused to swallow the bait.

"No," Hem contradicted with thin patience. "It's because I think you're tryin' to provoke me so I'll provoke you back, givin' you a reason to exclude me from your little excursion."

She glared at Steig and then at Thorin who stood by, watching them with forced nonchalance. She could tell he held back a smirk.

"It won't work," she said emphatically.

Thorin controlled his features when he spoke, taking a formal stand in the conversation. "You are excused from any representative duties at this time and are under no obligation to join me on this journey. I know you have work that needs your undivided attention."

He still did not get it. Hemery put more force behind her words.

"I'm not doin' it out of obligation. I'm doin' it because the princes and the princess asked me."

Thorin remained calm and cool. "I'm sure your sister has other priorities––"

"I meant_ your _sister, Sire," Hem interrupted.

"To be fair," Fíli said, "it was Hanah's idea. She knows Lady Brage better than anyone and is the person who last had any contact with her personally. If she's concerned––I'm concerned."

Thorin regarded him without attempting to interject or argue. They had talked this all through before, it seemed. Fíli sighed, as if giving up trying to convince Thorin. Fíli took a step back, raising his chin, adopting a lofty expression.

"I'm informing you as a courtesy, Uncle," he said. "Either Hemery goes, or I go."

Thorin glowered at that, disliking ultimatums and disliking the idea of Fíli going near the people who almost had him killed.

"She'll be my companion," Kíli said. "I'll answer for her safety."

"Indeed," Thorin drawled unimpressed, picking up his holsters. He turned to leave. "I'm getting cleaned up. I want your lot gone when I return. You'd better hurry to ready yourselves for dinner. Dis is in a right state, trying to gather us before we depart."

With those words, Thorin left. Hemery, Fíli, and Kíli looked at each other.

Fíli shrugged. "I guess you're going," he said, clapping Hem on the back. It was meant to be friendly, but it almost took he wind out of her.

"She's a twig," Steig said. "Doesn't matter who trained her––she'll not last five heartbeats in a fight."

Hemery lunged at him, slamming her palms hard against the dwarf's ears, creating a hard pressure against his eardrums, a painful distraction as it gave her time to shift and hit his larynx with the side of her flat hand, making him choke. These pains were temporary, just enough to make her point as she lastly aimed a kick with her heel to the back of his knee, causing him to fall to his knees, clutching his neck, coughing.

Hemery leaned forward, but stayed out of reach. "I could've taken out your knee, but I chose not to," she said loudly since she suspected his ears would be ringing pretty badly.

She straightened, smoothing out her skirts. She was happily surprised how easy she could move in the long dress. Fíli and Kíli just stared at her––Fíli stunned, Kíli failing to supress his gleeful laughter.

Only then did Hem realise what it looked like. A slip of a girl taking down a dwarf, like a mouse biting the tail of a boar. Some of the other dwarves in the area took notice, but not all. An armoured dwarf falling over in this room was not an unusual occurrence. They looked like they did not really believe their eyes, or they shared Fíli's and Kíli's reaction.

Suddenly, Hemery felt a flash of dread. Perhaps she should not have done that to Thorin's personal guard?

"Dwalin would never have fallen for that," she said in her defence.

Kíli let out unrestrained laughter. Fíli smiled crookedly.

"Let's get you out of here before you incapacitate Thorin's entire army," Fíli said, ushering her towards the exit. He did not seem terribly upset. Hemery breathed out, relieved. She needed to keep her temper in better control, she thought. But surrounded by dwarves, this had never been easy.

"How many heartbeats was that?" Kíli asked, curious.

* * *

><p>Apparently, Dis had a tradition of gathering all of her family and their closest friends before any significant event, such as her brother and son going off to an uncertain fate in the East, for example. This meant she summoned the king, her sons, Hanah, Hemery, and the entire company of ten dwarves that were present at the reclaiming of Erebor thirty years ago. Since there was no limit in drinking at these late dinners, Híli had already had her supper and stayed in her room.<p>

Dis claimed it would bring Thorin and Kíli luck on their journey to have been around all the people who kept them safe through previous perils. This included Dwalin whom Hemery was surprised, but glad, to see appear in the large dining room. Dis had chosen the bigger room, not only to fit everybody, but also taking the opportunity to dine in style in grander surroundings.

Dwalin was extremely uncomfortable. He looked like he had just been told they were having vegetarian cuisine this evening. Hemery knew he was not looking forward to seeing the king, and she had no idea of what nature his relationship with Dis was at the moment. She did not think they had seen much of each other since Hem and Dwain returned from Tirith, but were clearly not going to go out of their way to catch up during the evening, so to speak.

Dwalin was strategically placed as far away from Thorin as possible. Hemery sat next to him, and Kíli, Fíli, and Hanah on the other side. Fortunately enough little was said during dinner of the travel plans for the next morning, except for some queries from the uninvited members of the company as to when they planned to return. Kíli and Balin tried to sound untroubled and confident, though they could not give any estimation other than "a week or two."

Hemery was surprised again when Dwalin did not speak at all, not even commenting on her choice to go with them. She wondered whether he actually respected her decision so much that he would let it rest or if he would explode at any moment.

Attempting to change the subject, Fíli asked how the latest court proceedings fared for Hemery.

"Did you _floor _them with your unexpected manoeuvres?" he teased, imitating a punch to the throat toward Kíli who in turn gripped his ears as if in great pain.

Their vulgar portrait of Steig from a few hours ago did not amuse Hemery. Fíli always asked about the court proceedings, though he knew perfectly well their results, because he was aware of how insecure she was at every summons.

"_Please_," Hanah groaned exasperated. "No wrestlin' at the table, you two." She had seen too many dishes broken and meals spoiled by their unchecked behaviour. This was why they rarely were allowed to sit next to each other at dinner anymore.

Fíli left his brother alone only to kiss Hanah's cheek. She ignored him, trying to continue eating, but did not deny him either. Unbothered, Fíli turned back to Hem, expectantly.

"I think I put words together well enough to get my point across," Hemery replied modestly, but glared, willing him to not ask anymore about it.

"Miss Hemery shone with brilliance, as always," Balin said, smiling.

"You're too kind," she replied into her cup.

"Pity that is not all that is said about Hem's role in the council rooms," Dwalin remarked.

Hemery looked up sharply. Dwalin was looking deliberately at Thorin who seemed unaware of the conversation at the other end of the table.

What in Mahal's bloody name was Dwalin doing?

"Dwalin," Hanah spoke with the same tone used for Híli when she spoke with her mouth full. "Now is not the time." She looked at Dwalin with raised eyebrows, silently questioning his sanity.

"Now's the perfect time," he said, speaking louder now. "I'd think ye'd agree she should not be put in situations where her dignity and intentions are constantly questioned. It's not right."

At that, Thorin's head rose from his meal, finding Dwalin's gaze. Hanah leaned an elbow on the table, half-covering her mouth worriedly. She knew she could not stop it now.

"And you, Mister Dwalin, would be an authority on decency, I take it," Thorin replied lazily and sarcastically.

Dwalin turned red, but kept himself in check. Hemery knew it was a great effort on his part.

"This is not about me," he ground out.

Hemery's eyes widened, full of horror of what might be said in heat and old anger. She did not dare intervene, probably because she knew all things said were true, and to some extent she agreed with Dwalin. And Hem was curious to know if the king had been aware of the gossip.

However, of all the people to bring up the issue before the king, hoping for some kind of solution to the problem, Dwalin was the least likely to succeed. And everyone in the room knew it.

Hemery placed her hand on Dwalin's arm, pressing her fingertips into his flesh, willing him to stop speaking. He did not oblige her.

"Even your half-trained guards and sleepin' advisors cannot have missed what is being said about the king's procedures," he said.

"You allow your brother too little credit," Thorin jabbed intentionally, knowing full well the advisors Dwalin spoke of did not include Balin. "I know that no sensible person should listen to loose talk from malcontents." Thorin was very calm in the face of Dwalin's inquiry.

So he had known? Was that was he was saying?

"And the vicious slander among the conservative families of the kingdom about a witch who has the king under her thumb––should that be tolerated?" Dwalin's booming voice rose further.

Thorin's face darkened, clenching his fists on the armrests of his chair.

Balin got up quietly from his seat to approach the serving staff who were busy at the other end of the room. With not so much as a whisper reaching the seated party, he thanked them for their services for the evening and that they may leave the dining hall. Balin remained there, near the doors, probably to be prepared to call guards if an altercation were to take place. Vigilant as ever.

"I will not dignify such absurd claims with an address, no matter who utters it." Thorin's voice was pure venom. "I administer the royal audiences as I see fit, and I answer to no one."

"With no thought to who suffers under yer administration?" Dwalin challenged.

Hemery felt as if she was about to cry, but she was too afraid. She started to sweat as her heart beat frantically in her chest.

"Will you _shut up_," she hissed to Dwalin, digging short nails into his arm.

She had thought a lot about what she had heard the evening before, about the jokes on her expense for her involvement at court, but she had tried to ignore it. She did not want it to taint her deeds or alter Thorin's perception of her. No matter how exhausted she might be, and no matter how much time and effort he asked of her––without actually _asking_, mind––she would not refuse him. It was not his fault people were insensitive lard-bags whose only source of amusement was mocking others.

Thorin was taxed by long hours and the heavy burden of his crown; she wanted to relieve him in any way she could. If her counsel could aid in his predicaments or amuse him for the briefest of moments, she would continue to offer it. If he paid mind to the rumours and opinions flourishing around them and decided to not summon her anymore, she feared their bond––whatever it was––would dissolve.

"No one has openly questioned Hem's presence in any mediations," Fíli interjected in an attempt to prevent bloodshed during his, thus far, pleasant dinner. "Neither can anyone present evidence that her advice is anything other than genuine and sound."

He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent to the tense atmosphere, but Hemery could tell by the way he avoided his uncle's eye that his words were merely one side of the truth. Just because none made official complaints did not mean the issue was irrelevant.

But Thorin ignored him.

"If Miss Hemery is displeased with her situation, I have yet to hear of it." Thorin's dark gaze turned to her now. "She may, of course, be released from any sense of duty towards Erebor forever, if indeed that is her wish."

The room fell into an oppressive hush while all in attendance waited for her reply.

Hemery cleared her throat, stalling a moment, searching for whatever words would offend Thorin the least, while still being truthful.

"I am not displeased," she managed with a dry tongue. "But I cannot deny that these unfavourable reports have reached me as well. Some quite . . . unnervin'." She could feel blood rush to her cheeks as she thought of the accusations of her seducing the king to gain power over him. And the worst ones, pushed to the extreme, in which she had Thorin submit with a spell or drug him to have him act as her puppet, in the throne room as well as the bedroom.

She continued, hating the waver in her voice.

"I understand how things might seem outwardly, and I fear . . . sometimes . . . that the king's decisions, however sensible, will be perceived as weaker after I have spoken for no other reason than that I am a woman. It makes me very . . . uncomfortable."

Hemery hated being forced to say these things in front of witnesses, even if they were his family. She knew it made Thorin's skin thicken and his hackles rise, and no good would come of this evening. She glanced at Thorin, but could not bear the weight of his stare.

No sound was made in the room. All had stopped eating and drinking long ago to observe the exchange, and tension rose. Bofur's brow furrowed as he regarded her apologetically. Nori looked shocked, as if he could not believe his luck to be present at the time of reckoning. Kíli clenched his jaws tightly, his big, brown eyes miserable as he watched the exchange between Hemery and Thorin. Fíli looked down, seemingly at a loss, gripping his goblet in one large fist and Hanah's hand in the other. They could have been praying together had it not been for Hanah's keen stare at Thorin, as if daring him to say anything against her sister.

"I must say I'm surprised at you, Miss Skinner." Thorin's voice was deceivingly calm. "I expected your integrity to not be so easily penetrable by feeble minds. But perhaps I should have realized your failure to grasp the power of constancy over leniency."

"_Uncle_," Fíli was quick to warn, as if asking Thorin if he really wished to pursue this topic.

But Thorin's words made no sense to Hemery. "What do you mean?"

"You're not accusing her of being disloyal, are you?" Dis asked, baffled.

"He would not dare," Dwalin threatened.

"She_ left_," Thorin stated with a bark. "I will not be blamed for wishing to reassert her devotion to Erebor."

Reassert? Hemery blanched at the word.

She had never been a citizen, as such. She was not born in Erebor, nor had she lived there very long. She had been in Dale, Esgaroth, and Erebor for four years before she journeyed to Minas Tirith. Her service to the king was not because of some duty to the crown, but a kinship with Thorin and his family. She did not care about Erebor––she cared about him. And doubt was her thanks.

"Have you been testin' me?" she asked, incredulous. "Is that why you have called for me day and night since I got back?"

Was she to atone for her transgression and, if she rose to his standards, be forgiven for her absence in order to re-establish his good will towards her? Was he disciplining her like a dog?

"You dwelled in the south longer than you stayed here. Given your past, you would have more than sufficient time to nestle your way into the royal family of any kingdom," his voice had turned easy and unbothered again, as if he was merely bored by the discussion. "And I could not care less about how you appear in the eyes of others––as a witch, troll, or siren––for they know nothing of your character, nor do they have any power to judge. They are of no consequence. You, however, should know better than to be swayed in your convictions and not overlook the respect my people have for loyalty and perseverance. I suppose knowing some Khuzdul does not make you an expert on our society."

Hemery felt as if she had been struck in the face. She stared at him as he finished, concluding his speech by a determined set of his jaw, belying his cool demeanour.

How did he know she knew Khuzdul unless he had read the book she brought––her book––where she analysed its significance for dwarf kind? Her worst fear had been realized; he had inspected her work on dwarven culture and disapproved, utterly and completely. And when he tested her loyalty in the wake of his disappointment, she had failed. By not stoically withstanding the weight of his demands, as well as the horrible accusations and rumours, she was not worthy.

Dwalin rose suddenly.

"_No_," Dis exclaimed, her hand slamming on the table, looking between her brother and Dwalin, as if stopping both of them in their spiral.

Dwalin froze, halted in motions. As if deliberating his actions and intentions, his eyes flew from Thorin to Dis, from Dis to Hem.

Hemery looked back up at him from her seat. She did not want him to challenge Thorin. It would solve nothing. Dwalin could not defend her honour here.

Hem took his hand, squeezing it. He sighed, seemingly deflating. He pushed back his chair, brushed her head with his hand, before leaving with heavy, angry steps.

If only she had not heard that stupid song at the Dragon's Head. But Hemery's regret was not whole hearted. She would not live in ignorance for anything.

She did not know what to say. Her face burned as hot as her emotions. She was furious and devastated. She had tried so hard to do the right thing, navigating the social conduct of dwarves and men, but had failed anyway.

At that moment, Hanah rose and came round the table. She took Hemery's elbow and gently, but not condescendingly, helped her from her seat. Hemery was glad of it, her shaking hand gripping Hanah's tightly.

"Hem––"

It was Thorin, his voice low and less heated than a moment ago. She turned her head to him. He stood as well. It seemed he wanted to say something, but Hanah interrupted him.

"That is quite enough for one evenin'. Don't you think so, Your Highness?"

Hemery went with Hanah, leaving the dining hall. Balin followed through the large doors.

"You mustn't be discouraged, Miss Hemery," he said, patting her shoulder. "We all know he can sound a bit rough, though I don't rightly know what's come over him tonight."

"Nobles rarely say what they mean or mean what they say, right?" Hemery managed a dry smile at the old dwarf. He returned it.

"Something like that, Miss," he agreed.

"Don't worry, Mister Balin," she said. "Dwarven tempers have not frightened me for several years."

He chuckled at that, comforted in her resilience––or her attempt at it, in any case.

"Good night, Balin," Hanah bid.


	10. Chapter 10 - Unexpected Dawning

Thanks to all who add and to my reviewers: dragynfyre18, EquusGold, Fanny Tompkins, Vanafindiel, Wraithangel71, FeeKilico, raeshell, Skywolf42, Gingersnap91, Wynni, LePyronness, Irishmadhatter3, yriz3, emcpherson, and Rhyska Nevar!

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

* * *

><p>The sisters moved in silence to Hemery's chambers. As soon as Hanah had closed and locked the door behind them, Hemery sat down heavily in a chair by the fire. She covered her eyes with one hand, resting her elbows on her knees. She did not cry, not yet, but her eyes burned.<p>

She sighed, shaking her head in frustration.

Hanah kneeled on the floor in front of her, stroking her arms.

"He is completely in the wrong, of course," Hanah began, as if they had been discussing the merchant who over-charged Hemery for sheepskins last week. "Though I'll not say he didn't mean it."

Hemery groaned, but Hanah continued.

"You know it wasn't you who angered him enough to say those things. Dwalin always manages to push Thorin where he least wants to go, remindin' him of what people are sayin' about him, and about you. He can't make them stop, and he can't make it easier for you to bear. He hates the lack of control––that's all."

Hemery looked at her then. Her red but dry, wretched eyes pleaded with her sister.

"But he's right. I shouldn't care what they think," said Hemery.

Thorin was right about dwarves respecting loyalty more than anything. If only she had held fast to her resolve to help him make fair decisions for the kingdom and its people, they may have seen eventually that her purpose was good and honest, though she could not fathom the time it might have taken them to arrive at such a conclusion. Dwarves were stubborn as stone, after all.

"You are just one person," Hanah said forcefully. "You didn't ask for their opinions, but they'll give them anyway. You didn't ask for Thorin's trust, yet he gave it to you."

Hanah opened her eyes fully, staring at her sister, drawing out her doubt, silently demanding Hem to take in her words. It seemed she was speaking from experience.

Hanah gripped Hemery's shoulders. "You have to find a way through all those expectations that are placed on you whether you want them or not, and decide what is best for you. Don't carry it simply because you hope it will please anyone else, least of all Thorin. You cannot fulfil them all––it's impossible. Trust me."

Hemery thought about this. Hanah was right, of course. She was always right.

"Did you know?" Hem asked suddenly.

"Know what?"

"What people were sayin'? Did you know all along?" Hem felt strange. Had Hanah lied to her? She did not know what to think about that.

"Sigrid told me . . . a month ago, maybe," Hanah replied truthfully. Hem frowned but did not remove herself from Hanah's gentle hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?

"Because I knew this would happen," Hanah said softly. "If you would continue to aid Thorin, I thought you'd gain more confidence to be better prepared for it. And the longer you'd be spared from those horrid whispers, the better. So I didn't tell you."

Hem looked down in her lap, pursing her lips in disgruntled thought.

"They're just words," Hanah said. "They're not swords or axes or torches. Just words."

But words could be as sharp as blades, Hemery reflected silently.

* * *

><p>"What made Thorin speak so harshly tonight?" Hanah asked Fíli while she undressed in their bedroom.<p>

"Who knows?" Fíli shrugged, his uncle's actions a mystery even to him. "Perhaps his steak was over cooked. And Dwalin did not help matters."

Hanah nodded, thoughtful.

"You know from what he said now I believe he might have taken serious offence to Hemery leavin' for so long. But he never gave us any reason to think he disapproved so strongly. To think he found her disloyal? It's beyond belief." Hanah was thoroughly confused. "Did he ever say anythin' to you?"

"No, nothing. He's always been short-tempered, but I thought it was the pressure of the work. I've tried to aid him as much as I can, but nothing really makes a difference to his mood. Being idle worsens it, if anything."

As Hanah loosened her hair, Fíli came up behind her and picked up her comb. Making her sit down, he slowly and carefully made her hair free from braids, knots, and waves. After a thoughtful moment, he spoke.

"I noticed he seemed to make her a favourite ever since you first moved into the mountain. He always took the time to listen to her and even took advice from her." He smiled at Hanah in the mirror in front of her. "Though she was but a crude, insolent little thing."

"Watch your mouth, m'lord," Hanah said.

Fíli was not put off, only held back her hair to place a kiss on her neck. She did not stop him. He resumed his combing, though it was more for his own pleasure than for her benefit.

"Never would I have imagined it would come to this," he said, bemused. He suspected the dynamics in Thorin and Hemery's relationship had shifted since she returned, but he was not sure. He had chosen not to dwell on it until tonight. The talk about Hemery seducing him, or Thorin seducing her––whatever people were saying––did not help.

"It was your idea," she said in her sister's defence.

"What?" Fíli was abruptly roused from his musings.

"She only did what you recommended––to go out into the world and educate herself."

"Oh." Fíli's brow knotted, wondering if she misunderstood his meaning, but decided to drop it and bring a lighter mode to the conversation. "Well, that may be so, but she's the one who told our secrets to the world and brought the king's wrath on herself. The last untouched treasure of our people flaunted for all men to see."

"Yes, poor you. You have no treasures left whatsoever," Hanah scoffed sarcastically. "It was one book which is now safe in your own library. Get over the violation of your sacred privacy."

"Well, who has to suffer the king's bad mood in the morning? _I do._"

Hanah smiled. Despite his show of being the masculine dwarf who took care of everyone around him and handled every problem, Fíli had no scruples about playing the martyr when it suited him.

"He'll have to get over it, as well, or the whole kingdom will suffer. He'll not go two weeks without consultin' her, no matter what kind of abandonment issues he might be strugglin' with. Five years aren't that much to a dwarf, is it?" She looked to him for assurances.

Fíli lay down the comb and proceeded to undress.

"Five years are still five years. I thought she'd go to the Iron Hills or Ered Luin, not bloody Gondor," he said, wrestling out of his shirt. "I thought Dwalin would take her to meet some good people, learn a new fishing hook or two. Not go to university and produce our culture to the scholars of Minas Tirith."

He pulled off his boots and chucked them into a corner. "I just wanted her to get some fresh air and for us to–"

He stopped himself mid-sentence.

"We would what?" Hanah asked apprehensively.

Fíli drew his hands through his thick mane and sighed. "That we could have some time alone together."

She smiled crookedly, finding it sweet how upset he was that his plans for intimacy with her had backfired.

"I love them all to bits," he vowed, "but there's always so many people around. My brother in my study, or Hem in your work shop, or Híli in our chambers––in our _bed_." He sat heavily on the bed. " I just wanted you to myself for a little while."

Hanah approached the dwarf, resting her hands on his head. He embraced her middle, pressing his face to her stomach through her shift.

"We've shared the same bed, the same meals, and the same evenin's, every day for nine years. I thought you'd be sick of me by now," Hanah spoke lightly, threading her fingers through his hair.

Fíli's warm hands caressed her back, down over her hips to the swell of her buttocks where they stayed, squeezing lightly. "Not for along while yet," he murmured against her.

"Then you won't mind if I finish gettin' ready for bed as you hold that thought?" she asked, knowing it would be received with protests.

Fíli did not let go when she attempted to step back. "You are ready for bed," he said, sneaking his hands under her shift. "I'll make sure of it."

In the middle of their intimate caresses, just as he had pleasured her with his hands and mouth, he looked at her, completely relaxed and leisurely in their bed. There was not quite a smile on her face, but a serenity of a person who was just waking after a good night's sleep, but had no need to rise.

He was dropping slow kisses on her skin when he said, "Marry me, love."

She chuckled, as she was used to doing when he uttered sentimentalities in his aroused state. Once in a while, he would ask her to marry him––often when her mouth was on his manhood. Was it any wonder it amused her?

"To what point and purpose? I already get everythin' I need from you."

"Don't laugh," he said, but not without a hint of mirth in his own voice before he silenced her mouth with his lips. "I'm serious," he maintained between his kisses.

"No, you're not," she managed through his assault, having a harder time keeping back her laughter. "You can never be serious when your cock has more of your attention than your reason."

"Mmm––no, you have my attention." He moved down to lick and lightly bite her neck, while his lower half pressed against her thigh. "But keep going––I love hearing you say such words."

She was starting to tingle again from his touch, but she would not budge.

"If you ask me in the middle of love makin', I'll never agree. I think you know that, which is why you only ask me at times like these. You don't really want me to say yes. You just like the way it sounds."

"What if I want another child?" He moved to lavish her breast with a soft, hot tongue, but would not release her from his questioning. "Then this would be an excellent time to ask."

Hanah suspected he was trying to provoke her or tire her resistance by raising the issue in bed, forcing a yielding result from her. Similarly to her own strategy of asking him questions when he was falling asleep, triggering a yes from him whatever the issue might be in order to be allowed to sleep in peace.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "There would be even less time for us. Cries wakin' us in the night. More people in and out of our chambers. What if it was a son this time? Can you imagine tryin' to raise a small Fíli? It would be a nightmare."

He laughed lightly against her skin, and playfully scraped his teeth on a nipple.

"Oh, you are only making me more inclined to have one."

"Liar."

Fíli could hear the smile in her voice.

"All I ask . . . " he began more solemn, "is that you to leave the parcel on your nightstand alone for one day."

Hanah stilled. She knew what he meant, of course––the herbs she brewed to stop her from conceiving. She had never told him about them, nor had she actively kept it from him. It had been a favour from Sigrid. Hanah would not ask Elín to give her something like that; she knew the healer found life too sacred.

Híli had been an accident––a happy one, but an accident all the same. Hanah was apprehensive about bringing more half-dwarves to this world. Despite her words to Hemery about doing what she wanted for her own good, Hanah admitted to herself that she was guilty of bowing to the conventions of Erebor time and time again. She was not ashamed of her relation with Fíli or their daughter, but painfully aware of the suffering Híli would ultimately go through as she lived a long life in the dwarven kingdom.

One day she might bear the weight of the crown––provided that the people of Erebor found her fit to rule. Hanah knew she was not responsible for others' actions and could not answer for their treatment of her child, but she felt the guilt of it anyway. Guilt for all the things that Híli had not yet endured, for the doubt and the abuse she would be subjected to as a female, half-dwarf leader.

She found herself thinking that if they would have another child, she hoped it would be another girl. She could not deny the logic that a male half-blood would have an easier life. However, if Híli had a younger brother, she might be tempted to leave the crown to him to spare herself the burden––and the prejudice would be confirmed that a female leader was a weak leader. For the same reason, she might also feel pressured to keep the crown, despite its weight which would undoubtedly be heavier on her head than a brother's, just to prove to herself she could manage it, but having to prove herself over and over again until her untimely death after a life of servitude, self-doubt, and torment.

So Hanah hoped for a girl to provide Híli with the sisterhood she had herself enjoyed with Hemery, to share the burden and the joy together, and being stronger because of it.

"Why do you hesitate, love?" Fíli broke her train of thought. She found him regarding her, concerned, and maybe a bit hurt.

She also hesitated for the same reason she would not marry him.

Hanah placed her hand on his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and the smoothness of his cheek. He was so much older than her, but she could not tell by looking at him, except for the depth of his eyes and the small lines framing them. She would grow old as well, but as opposed to Fíli, her body would weaken, break, and die much sooner than his. She did not wish to bind him to her for the rest of her life if he would only want her and share a dignified life for a small part of that time, and he would go on living a hundred years or more after she was gone. He might even outlive their daughter. She did not wish that for him. She loved him too much.

"Nothin'," she assured, managing a smile. "I'll give you another child since you ask so nicely." She tried to lighten the mood, but he was not fooled.

"Only if you wish it as well," his gaze was unrelenting, searching her face for clues of her thoughts.

Here she did not need to pretend. She nodded. "Of course I do. I'm just worried, that's all. About what they might suffer because of what and who they are."

"I know." He smiled understandingly. "But have you seen Híli? She's the happiest person I know, loved by all, and cleverer than I was at her age." He snorted in self-deprecation.

"Well, it's not difficult to beat you in that contest," she teased, and kissed him before he could utter his resentment at the joke. With one hand around a braid and the other on his shoulder, she pushed him to lie back on the bed, Hanah on top of him.

His noises of protest soon turned to groans of pleasure as she gently rubbed her softest parts against his most sensitive.

* * *

><p>At dawn, Hemery lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the bag Sethie had packed for a journey she would not be making.<p>

Was it over now? Would Thorin not summon her anymore? Would she go back to being only a leather smith? Not that she did not enjoy it, but she had seen a glimpse of something more this winter. Something exciting. That she could do everything she wanted without having to give any part of her life up. That she could have it all. And now it was over.

Thus goes the road of men, Hanah always said. Quick turns, up and down. Hemery turned over, burrowing deeper in her quilts and furs, hiding from the unjust world.

Then she got angry with herself and threw off the blankets, sitting up in bed. She had promised Hanah, damn it. And Fíli, Kíli, and Dis. She would go anyway, even if she had to walk the whole way on foot––she did not care. Thorin could not stop her.

That would show them resilience. A loyal friend should know when she is needed, even if the recipient might not.

Hemery had pulled on a pair of leather trousers, good for riding as well as walking, when there was a knock on the door.

Was it Thorin? Her heart skipped a beat. No one else would come knocking at this hour, except Fíli on the few occasions when Hanah was ill. Perhaps it was Kíli, coming to make sure she was still going with them––or he was sent to make sure she did not.

Quickly, she threw on a linen tunic over her bare torso, not bothering to tie back her hair, letting it fall how it may in unkempt tresses over her shoulders. More knocking, harder this time, banged on her door before she opened it. Hemery almost had to hop aside when Thorin pushed past her into the room.

Did he do the same to his family or Balin? Was this what happened when you acknowledged the king's power––he treated your chambers like his own?

Without a word, he paced a few steps back and forth, not looking at her, restlessly or uncertain, until he came to stand in front of the window like last time. He was dressed for travel, a thick cloak with brown fur hung from his shoulders, making him much wider than usual.

When he did not speak, Hemery became nervous. Was he gathering his breath for more bile?

"Shouldn't you be preparin' for your trip, Sire?" she asked.

He did not answer, as if immersed in the view of the stars fading in the brightening, dark blue sky.

Hemery folded her arms, glancing down at her feet. She should have put shoes on before getting the door, or at least socks.

"I saw Bain yesterday," Thorin said, hoarsely.

Hem raised her head, bewildered. He was just going to ignore their last conversation? Really?

"I know you disapprove of the low number I take with me today," he continued, "and I do too."

"Then why don't you take more?" she asked, shrugging.

"Bain refuses to supply me with the horses I ask for, and the journey will take too long on foot."

It dawned on her that Bain and Thorin were still having problems. Bain was not letting go of the issue she had tried to solve. "He wanted you to lower the trade tax in return, didn't he?" Hem guessed.

Thorin turned to meet her eyes then. There was none of the ice from last night, only exhaustion.

"He wants something I cannot give him," he said regretfully. He clenched and unclenched a fist at his side. "We need to leave as soon as possible, so we'll take fifty horses from the small stables we have up here."

Hemery nodded. "You're doin' the right thing. If you give in to his demand, you'll have to do the same for everyone."

"Mm," he huffed in agreement. He looked down, sighing, resting one hand on the windowsill. He was not happy with the arrangements, she could tell.

"I don't know how I allowed things get so out of hand," he said suddenly.

Hem frowned. In what way? With Bain? With dinner? With Blackwater?

"With everything," he explained without being asked, surprising her.

Her jaw slackened. Did that mean what she thought it meant?

"You do know," she began carefully, barely daring to hope for an apology, "that I never wanted to abuse your trust or betray Erebor in any way?"

He shook his head, holding up a hand to stop her. Did he not believe her?

"What I said was true," he maintained.

Hemery stiffened, annoyance rising in her chest. Did he come just to insult her again?

"Those thoughts were seeds of weakness, entering my mind at one time or another during the last few years," he went on. "However . . . this was before I knew you were willing to risk your life for Erebor by volunteering to return to Blackwater."

He looked at her, his features softer than she had seen in five years. There was humility there, she realised, daunting in its unfamiliarity.

Was that an apology? The confession that he had once doubted her, but did not anymore? And was she only forgiven because she would sacrifice herself for Erebor?

It was Hemery's turn to look away, focusing on the last embers in the fireplace.

"I didn't do it for the kingdom," she said. "It's the right thing to do. This Brage thing has to go away."

She could feel his eyes on her, anticipating more.

"And because I care. About you . . . and Kíli," she was quick to add, tightening her folded arms.

"But we are one," he said. "We are Erebor, always will be."

"I'm beginning to see that," Hem said, frustrated, running her fingers through her hair, pushing it back, out of her face as she straightened to meet Thorin's gaze. "There's always a shadow attached to every brightly polished pillar in this place. King and court is no different." She pursed her lips.

She did not care if he took offense. She would keep insulting him even if she tried not to, might as well be honest. If she did insult him, he did not show it this time. He only looked as tired as she felt, but was probably more so considering his position, his duty, and his experience. Hem was already fed up with people, and she was only twenty-two.

Thorin moved to the fire, sitting down in one of the chairs there. He motioned for her to join him. When she hesitated, he gave her a pointed look.

"If you please . . .?" he said.

Hemery refrained from rolling her eyes. Typical of him to only ask sarcastically. She sat down in the opposite chair.

"I do not ask permission to enter when I come to your door, nor when I sit down in your chambers, because it is not my impression that you object," he said with his royal tone of entitlement, but continued in a soft rumble. "I believe I am welcome to share your fire, always, as you are welcome to share mine."

He spoke like she was his kin, like they were equals, but they were not. She did not know what they were, but her heart stuttered.

"Of course, Sire," she said, breathless.

"_Don't_," he winced, as if he had a headache and she had just shouted at him. "Don't call me that."

He did not want her to call him Sire?

Hemery thought about what he said about her being separate from the court, that her opinions were not equal to those of his council. Perhaps he wanted a respite from the constant weight of the crown? Perhaps he wanted, if not to forget, then to not be reminded of his duty all the time? But she had to use his title when she addressed him.

"What else could I call you?" she asked. "It would not be proper for me to use only your name."

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, as if in deep thought. He was very close. She could reach out her hand and touch his shoulder if she wanted to.

"I do not care what people think. I thought you didn't either," he said, raising a questioning brow at her. "Although, I have been wrong about many things, it seems."

He kept speaking in riddles, confusing Hemery.

"Was I the only one who didn't know about the horrible things people were sayin' about me?" she asked.

Thorin sighed, watching her from under dark eyebrows. She took that as a yes.

"Though my choice of words were poor, I meant what I said. I do not let idle talk affect me, nor should you, because it will never pass," he said plainly. "We both know it holds no veracity. It cannot touch you. I won't allow it."

Then some ill thought seemed to strike him. His brow furrowed.

"Surely, none has spoken of it to you at court?" he asked.

"No," she assured. Though she wondered if Bain had it in mind when he asked about her and Thorin a few days ago.

Thorin was not convinced. "Hem?"

She shook her head, clasping her hands together in her lap. "No, no one has said anythin' at court. Nothin' to affect official matters."

He frowned, displeased with her vague response. She was not about to tell him about the awkward conversation with Bain or the mortifying song she had heard at The Dragon's Head.

"I realise . . . I was harsh last evening. Frustration and impatience infused my words––still do," Thorin said, taking a deep breath, as if to keep calm. "You must understand . . . I cannot afford to be influenced by trivialities––because they _are_ trivialities––when governing this kingdom. Compared to financial and social issues, these rumours are nought but dust in the wind. It is merely your . . . damned empathy that clouds your judgement. The individuals that perpetuate these stories, they do not know us," he said, tone soft despite his determined speech. "They have nothing to do with who you are or what you accomplish––_nothing_."

Hemery felt her eyes tears up, so she looked down. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to ignore the embarrassment that burned in her skin when she recalled the laughter from the tavern. It was like Hanah had said; she had to move past it if she ever wished to step foot out the door and achieve anything ever again.

"Your only crime was performing your duties too well," Thorin said.

Her eyes flew to his, forgetting the unshed tears in her eyes due to the renewed ire in her gut. What now?

He had the gall to flash a brief smile at her frown.

"You draw too much attention to yourself," he explained.

"_You_ drew attention to me. I didn't do nothin'," she snapped.

"In the years I have known you, you have never been able to keep your opinions to yourself. I decided to make use of this trait, and I have never regretted it," Thorin spoke in a low, sincere voice. "Until yesterday when I was foolish enough to be antagonised, speaking from a place of anger and fear rather than solidarity."

Hemery looked away again, not able to stand his entreating eyes. She had never encountered this version of him before. This soft voice speaking of honesty and humility was stranger than ice and venom, and she had no idea how to respond.

She had known since before Thorin even opened his mouth last night that nothing good would come of it. He was already under a lot of stress because of his plans to finish the business with Blackwater. And right before he was supposed to leave, he was ambushed by Dwalin and held responsible for whatever agonies Hemery was going through at the time, which Thorin had nothing to do with except that he gave her a chance to prove herself at court. A chance she herself had been increasingly grateful for, though it still scared her every day.

Did Hemery forgive him for what he had said? No. But neither could she deny that a lot of what he said was true, however badly phrased it might have been. And if she understood that her own reaction had been much stronger merely because the words were spoken before an audience––and she had lacked the freedom and tools to argue against them––she would never admit it.

She sniffed, blinked away any remnants of tears, and raised her chin. Thorin was still leaning forward, watching her intently. She noticed the light in the room was brighter, the sun coming over the horizon.

"Don't you have a convoy to catch?" she reminded him pragmatically.

"Will you join us?" he countered.

"Yes, whether you like it or not. I'm walkin' if I have to."

He smiled again. "No need for that. I have a horse saved for you."

Oh. That was . . . unexpected. But she would not let him see her gratitude.

"And Bror?" she asked. The guard had too much honour to let her go anywhere without him, even if it was outside Erebor's boundaries.

"Yes, there is also one for Bror," he said patiently.

"Good," she said with false confidence, standing. "I'll get dressed and meet you at the gate."

Thorin rose and moved to the door.

Though he had addressed the most important issue of the argument from last night, something still bothered Hemery.

"I just have one more thing to ask," she said before he opened the door. "Did you read my book?"

If he had, she had wanted to know his genuine opinion. If there were inaccuracies or if he merely disapproved of the method or means, she wanted to know.

Thorin turned away, making a show of adjusting his coat over his shoulders. "I do not have time to read every page in that library," was all he said.

That was not a 'no', Hemery thought.


	11. Chapter 11 - Unexpected Turns

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: yriz3, Vanafindiel, Wynni, Punky Warhammer, Skywolf42, FeeKilico, Wraithangel71, Cougar10fh, ShokaLokiRen, iceribbons, AmazedDazed, BlackAdder, Violetka, guest, and Rhyska Nevar!

* * *

><p>Chapter 11 – Unexpected Turns<p>

* * *

><p>"What would happen if there was a truce?" Hemery asked Kíli as they rode towards Blackwater. It was well after midday, and Hem was tired, bored, and beyond sore. She had not sat on a horse for months, and her backside felt it.<p>

Thorin rode first in the procession with Vannur and Rál. It seemed Steig had stayed home. Hemery and Kíli rode behind them with Bror, and Kíli's guards Sveir and Sunna.

"A truce?" Kíli echoed, as if the word was foreign to him.

"Yeah," Hem said. "If Lady Brage just said 'Sod it, I'm goin' to the south for some sea-bathin' to cure my . . . cramps or somethin'. You can have the ridge. I don't care anymore.'"

"Cramps?" Kíli snorted.

"Or shakes or nerves or whatever old people complain about," she explained, smirking. "You're old. What ails you, m'lord?"

Kíli actually looked pensive a moment. "Well, I do bear this horrible curse, you see."

"What kind of curse?" she asked, squinting her eyes in disbelief.

"I am just too much fun," he said with a toothy grin.

"Oh, aye. You're a riot," she agreed, nodding unimpressed. "Though I don't think Lady Brage shares your symptoms."

"No, she's a tough, old hag. I doubt she'd ever give it up."

"What are we supposed to do when we get there?"

"They've just suffered a great tragedy. It is our duty to investigate the fire and make sure the town recovers. And if we can lend a hand––not physically, of course, merely moral support––we would naturally be delighted to be of aid. However, if they don't have the resources to mend what is broken, we may convince the citizens that new leadership is needed." He shrugged, as if talking of re-decorating his drawing room.

"And if you're successful?" Hem prodded. "What would change? Could you trust them after everythin'?"

Kíli hesitated and scrunched his face in a grimace, as if he did not really believe they would succeed.

"I'll agree to nothing less than their utter surrender," Thorin said over his shoulder. Hemery sat up straighter in the saddle. She did not know he could hear them.

"Their renouncement of the mines and the ridge, and banishment," he continued. "They attempted to assassinate a prince of Erebor. Unless they grovel 'til their knees bleed, they'll not escape with their lives."

Hem and Kíli looked at each other.

"I meant the town," she said carefully to Thorin. "You know, in general. The people and their view on dwarves and whatnot."

Thorin said nothing. Hemery guessed his position was still valid.

She added, "But, yeah, sure––you know, fair point there."

"Hold," Thorin called out, raising his hand to stop the convoy.

Hemery reigned in her horse, looking around for the disturbance. Surely, they were not there already?

They had stopped at a fork in the road. From their current path, one road led south downhill and the other north uphill.

Thorin twisted in his saddle to look at Hemery, raising one brow.

"Which way?"

Surprised, she focused on the road ahead. She could not recall many crossroads or alternative paths this near Blackwater. The north road was not as well travelled, judging by the shallow wheel tracks.

"South should lead to the main road into town," she said. "I don't know the north path. Looks quite new."

Hemery wondered what could be further up the ridge.

"It could lead to the old minin' system," she guessed.

"Uncle, permission to investigate," Kíli said.

"Why?" Thorin grumbled. "It's just a pile of rocks. The tunnels collapsed twenty years ago."

"If they're using the road all the way up there, they might be mining again. Could be useful to know whether they found something."

Thorin seemed to think it over, looking up and down the pathways, and then to the sun behind the clouds. Dusk was only a few hours away.

"Very well," he replied. "Meet us outside the south entrance as soon as you can."

Kíli nodded and spurred his horse on. Sveir, Sunna, and Kíli's closest captains followed him, but when Hemery moved to join them, Thorin stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

She looked at him confused. "With Prince Kíli, Sire. I'm his personal companion, remember?"

He frowned.

"I know the hills better than Kíli. We'll be fine," she assured him in a lower voice.

He thought a moment.

"_Kíli_," Thorin barked.

His nephew stopped the horse in its tracks.

"I'll go," Thorin said. "You lead the way to Blackwater."

Kíli looked between Thorin and Hemery, nodding at last. If he thought it strange that Thorin changed his mind, he did not say.

Thorin rode past him up the north path with Vannur and Rál, but paused where the road turned, looking back at Hemery. He waited for her.

Hemery kicked her horse into a trot, following Thorin uphill, Bror behind her.

The forest grew thinner the further up they went. Boulders blocked the path in several places, forcing the trail to snake like a small stream up the ridge. The wet earth came loose beneath the horses' hooves, making the animals struggle for footing on the steep road. One could hardy call it a road anymore, but it was obvious that carts had been pushed here recently, so they continued.

When they reached the top of a hill, Thorin stopped. Hemery caught up with him to share the view, letting the horse rest a moment.

A large pit gaped raw in the mountainside, as deep as a bell tower was tall––a gash-like wound marring the ground. Small holes in the edges indicated where the mining shafts used to be, but all was dug up, resembling the bottom of a drained lake.

No people worked in the pit, but Hemery could make out tools and carts at one end. Footprints remained in the soft sand around the pit; the place had been abandoned only recently. When the fire broke out, she guessed.

"You think they're minin' again?" she asked rhetorically with a humourless smile.

Thorin snorted. "Could be," he answered in clear understatement. "Mind you, they never excelled in the art."

"It should probably be called just . . . diggin'. Men always prefer to travel the straightest line to their goal," she said, smiling wryly.

"They will bring down the hillside if they keep this up."

Hemery observed their surroundings. Pine forest and soft, sandy earth coating the stone beneath. Through the canopy of the forest below, they could see thin strips of smoke rise to the sky. Blackwater, Hemery realised. It was not far, but the terrain would make the trip long anyhow.

"One cannot violate the earth like this," Thorin claimed, affronted. He turned his horse around, away from the abomination in the pit. "It has to be cared for, carefully mined in narrow tunnels, not disturbing the life around it."

"What about Erebor? I've never seen such big halls anywhere, even above ground," Hem questioned, confused.

"It does little harm at the summit, but the further down you go, the smaller the tunnels. Everyone knows that."

"All dwarves, you should say."

"Goes _without_ saying." Thorin smirked.

"No, it doesn't," Hem insisted, shaking her head.

"Do you always need to contradict everything I say?"

"Yes, Sire."

* * *

><p>They did not make it to the south entrance before dark. They had to turn back the way they came and then follow the same path Kíli and the others had taken to the south side of the town. A misty spring rain descended on them as darkness fell, making their clothes damp and cold, and hindered their sight like a soft water spray to their eyes.<p>

"I miss my mountain already," Thorin lamented through the fog.

"The mountain can be equally cold and damp––I miss my fire," Hemery countered.

"There you go again, contradicting me."

"Moan about somethin' worth moanin' about, Sire. Like how this weather will ruin your fur coat."

"You think that bothers me?" He glanced at her from below his hood, but it was too dark to see his expression.

"It should. Fur that thick will take ages to dry, even in front of a fire. Soon it'll start to smell like wet dog, and chillin' you more than the rain."

"'Tis fortunate I did not bring you with us because of your luminous disposition," he rumbled sarcastically.

"You did not bring me anywhere. I came on my own accord."

"Right," Thorin huffed. Hemery did not know if he made fun of her.

A cloaked figure with a burning torch appeared on the path in front of them.

Thorin's horse reared, making the others stop abruptly.

"State your purpose, stranger," Thorin called when the horse had calmed, "or get out of the way."

It was a man, that much was clear, but the torch blinded Hemery too much for her to make out more than brown hair plastered to his face by the rain. The horses shifted nervously before the stranger.

"I may ask your purpose here, King Thorin," replied the man. "Seldom does royalty venture this way."

"Who are you to speak so freely about the king of Erebor?"

The man came closer. Hemery saw a glimpse of a sword beneath his cloak and gripped the handle of a knife stuffed into her boot.

"How many men do you keep in your dungeons that you do not recognise them?" The man raised the torch higher, allowing them to see his face better.

It was the ranger, Tarren Low.

Suddenly, several men and women came forward from the forest, armed with bows and arrows, surrounding them. Vannur, Rál, and Bror drew their bows, aiming tightly pulled arrows at them and Tarren.

Thorin did not seem terribly alarmed. "I see your men remembered their bows this time. Out hunting again?"

"We've caught enough for one day. Though I wasn't expectin' a dwarf king and his prince to be my quarry."

"Where's Kíli?" Thorin spoke through his teeth this time, growing less patient.

"He's probably receivin' a royal greetin' by the new landlord." Tarren's grim face said that was not a good thing. "We did not have time to warn him before he entered."

"Warn him of what?" Hemery asked.

"A lot has changed since we last spoke, Lady Skinner. The Brages are gone. No one has seen them since the fire. Not that it makes much difference. They were merely replaced by the next wealthiest man in town––Graham, son of Grohm."

Hemery froze. Graham, who had caused her sister so much suffering ten years ago, was now in charge of Blackwater? She should have known he and his family would try to seize power over the community as soon as Brage wavered. She would not be surprised if the great fire had in fact been arson.

She glanced at Thorin. Meeting her eyes, he seemed to realise her worry and mirrored her apprehension. Perhaps they would now fruitlessly pursue an old conflict with a new leader.

"He's a merchant," Hem said to Tarren. "How did he get the people's confidence?"

"He's become much more, m'lady," the ranger replied. "Somehow, he gathered the money to take over Brage's soldiers. Now, he practically owns the ridge."

"But you're not paid by Graham?" she asked, confused. Tarren's men still aimed arrows at them.

"I'll take no wages from a man who taxes people to the bone," he replied sternly. Then he motioned for the others to lower their weapons.

"Don't worry, Your Highness," Tarren said, reaching out to pat the horse's neck. "We'll take you to your nephew."

Thorin made the guards put away their bows as well, continuing on their way to the town with Tarren and his companions as escort.

"Are you familiar with this man––Graham?" Thorin asked Hemery.

The vision of a blood-soaked bed and Hanah's pale face flashed in her mind, and fire ignited in her gut.

"Aye, I know who he is."


	12. Chapter 12 – Unexpected Ashes

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: dragynfyre18, Gingah18, EquusGold, Skywolf42, xXtryingXx, HobbitPony1, Wynni, Wraithangel71, Parttimefangirl, I-Can-Spell-Confusion-With-A-K, Vanafindiel, Kabellae, and guests one and two!

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><p>Chapter 12 – Unexpected Ashes<p>

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><p>A wooden fence, twice Hemery's height, blocked the road with a guard at the top, scouting arrivals. There never used to be a fence around the town, Hemery thought.<p>

Tarren stopped in front of the gate.

"Open up!" Tarren called to the man at the top.

"No admissions after night fall," the guard answered mechanically.

"Those orders have expired. Brage's not here to discipline you. Open up already."

"These are Master Graham's orders," the guard stated, unbothered.

Master Graham? Hemery could not help but snort at the idea.

"You can tell Master Graham," Tarren began curtly, "that there's a dwarf king outside the gates who will not be pleased to be kept waitin' in the rain while his nephew is inside. So get off your arse, quickly man, and _open the bloody gate_."

The guard rose to peer down at them, as if trying to see this king Tarren spoke of. Then he disappeared behind the fence. After a long moment, one half of the gate was roughly pulled open on muddy, uneven ground.

One at a time, they were allowed inside. Tarren made sure everyone got through before the gate was closed, then he approached Thorin.

"This way," he said. "I think I know where your nephew is."

Hemery lowered her hood as they rode through the town. It looked very much the same as she remembered, but it was like a memory from something she had read in a book; she felt like she had never actually lived in this place, only dreamt about it.

Thorin, Hemery, and the guards did not dismount their horses until Tarren stopped outside a house that was bigger than the others. Hardly had Hemery set foot in the mud before the door opened, spreading bright orange light from within, and the shadow of a man fell on the approaching party. She could only distinguish his silhouette in the doorframe.

"Stragglers, I see," the man commented nonchalantly.

Was it Graham? Hemery could not tell. It had been so long since she had seen him.

Tarren came forward. "May I present King Thorin, son of Thror son of Thrain." He swiped his arm in a formal gesture towards Thorin.

"Dwarf royalty at Blackwater Ridge," the man said. "Has another dragon possessed Erebor? I imagine little else could compel you to leave the comfort of your throne, Your Highness."

Granted, Thorin was not at home, but Hemery would have expected a bit more respect from these people. Then she remembered––they were men. The further away from mountains one ventured, the less men regarded dwarves. And in Blackwater, they were viewed as the spawn of demons.

"Where's Kíli?" Thorin asked, foregoing politeness since the man showed none.

Just as the words died on his lips, Kíli appeared in the door, Sveir and Sunna following him out into the street.

"Uncle," Kíli exclaimed, relieved. "At last. I was beginning to worry." He looked at their companions, and finally at Hemery, making sure all were accounted for. Then he noticed Tarren.

"Mister Low, you have returned to Blackwater in one piece, I see. How . . . unlikely," he stated ambiguously, clearly wondering the same thing as Hem––was Tarren working for Graham now that the brage's were gone? Should they be worried about the ranger and his comrades.

"Everything alright?" Thorin asked low when Kíli came up to him.

Kíli nodded, but his jaw was set in apprehension or discomfort of some kind.

"Mister Graham has . . . _allowed us_ to stay a few days to make our own inquiries about the fire." Kíli spoke carefully, clearly not happy with the man who was apparently managing things in Brage's absence.

Graham had moved aside when Kíli passed him, letting the light spill on his face. He had dark complexion and was moderately tall for a man. But he was shorter than Hemery remembered.

"And we're not alone," Kíli continued. "A party from the Iron Hills beat us here."

The fire must indeed have been great if it had been seen from that far away. A party was an insignificant presence, hardly a political influence and definitely not a military strength. But even if the iron dwarves were few, Hemery felt relief nonetheless.

"You are more than welcome to join your kin at the inn," Graham said, starting down the road to guide them, eager to have them on their way.

Tarren and his companions also followed them through the streets, but Hemery got the feeling that it was for their benefit rather than Graham's.

"What about the others?" Thorin asked Kíli, referring to their soldiers.

"Unfortunately, there's just no room for military troops in Blackwater," Graham replied. "I'm afraid they had to remain outside the gates."

Thorin all but glared at the man.

It appeared Graham did view the dwarves as a threat and did not want the armed soldiers near if he could help it.

"They have set up camp on the south side," Kíli informed Thorin.

"So we're cut off from them?" Hemery asked.

Graham looked at her then, as if noticing her for the first time.

"The fence on the east side was destroyed in the fire. No one is locked in or out. One simply has to take a detour through the forest if the gates are inconvenient."

"How much was destroyed? We've seen no damage so far," she asked.

Graham looked at her a moment, as if processing her question but not coming up with an answer.

"Apologies, I didn't catch your name," he said, narrowing his eyes like he could not see her well in the dark.

Could he see hints of Hanah in her features? Would he dare say anything if he did?

"Hemery Skinner," she said flatly, waiting for his reaction, but there was nothing.

"Well, Miss Skinner, you can see for yourself. You'll pass the site as you go to the inn from here." Graham motioned to a path to the right.

He was right. When Hemery moved around the corner, she saw the remains of a house in the scarce light from neighbouring houses. Beams balanced gingerly from stone fireplaces in the heaps of ash and rubble. Some of the piles still gave off wisps of smoke. She could see a large black gap between buildings, behind the burned house, where the fence had once been and now only a wide passage led out into the forest.

The open space made Hemery feel vulnerable despite having lived next to that very forest for twelve years, always fearing the town more than it. Why had they erected that fence at all? What did they fear? Was it to keep something out, or to keep something in?

Thorin and Kíli noticed a handful of shapes in the shadows by the ruins, which they approached and greeted. The Iron Hill dwarves, Hem realised.

They introduced Hemery to the unfamiliar faces. Gráni, Bírn, Dagný, and Sigurd––representatives from Dain Ironfoot's council.

"What are you doing out here in the rain?" Kíli asked after the proper greetings and politeness were out of the way.

Dagný pointed to the ashy darkness before them, wordlessly.

Following her line of sight, Hemery made out a small shape among the shades of black. Was that a person sitting in the destruction?

"Who is that?" Thorin asked.

"The Brage girl," Dagný replied. "The secret daughter."

"We've been tryin' t get her to speak to us about what happened, but she refuses to say a word," Sigurd rumbled displeased, clearly not enjoying being kept waiting in the cold evening for a wee lass to deign speak to them.

But Lady Brage raised that girl during an imprisoned childhood. She would not even want to share a privvy with dwarves, much less any information regarding her parents.

"I think I can wager a guess as to why," Thorin stated dryly.

"So you found her," Hem said to Tarren.

"No," he replied, neither insulted nor discontented. "Another group had already caught her when we got back. She only managed to avoid them for a few days. Might have been for the best. She wouldn't have survived long on her own."

Hemery carefully made her way into the ash, raising her cloak off the ground to not smear her clothes with the wet, ink-like soot. When she came near the girl, she could see thin shoulders beneath yellow hair darkened by the rain. She must take after her father more than her mother, Hem thought. She must also be freezing.

"Miss?" Hemery began softly. The girl tensed, but did not move.

Hemery sat on her haunches in front of her.

"Are you alright?"

The girl did not answer. Slowly, she raised her head to meet Hemery's eyes, but it was as if she could not see her. Or as if she was looking at someone else.

"It's over," the girl said. "It's all gone."

Hem remembered Tarren saying something about her being almost twenty, but she looked younger.

"I just . . . I just wanted to breathe. But the fire eats all. It eats it all. You try to feed it, but it's always hungry."

Hemery frowned, a vague suspicion growing in her mind.

She saw Graham over the girl's shoulder, saying something to a woman at the edge of the ruins. His maid, perhaps? Then, she moved towards where Hem and the girl sat.

"Did you do this?" Hemery asked low, not wanting anyone to hear the girl's reply.

The Brage girl's eyes lit up then, as if seeing Hemery for real, and wishing to convey some great realisation.

"The fear never stops, you know." She shook her head assertively and sounded almost like Hanah in her judicious, motherly tone.

"What?" Hemery asked, perplexed by her own association.

"It never stops, cause it's in the ground. It's in the rocks, and in your skin. You can feel it coming."

"What's comin'?" Hem wanted to know, but the woman was upon them now. The maid wrapped a blanket around the girl's shoulders.

Her voice was warm but firm like a nurse's. "Asta, it's cold and dark out. It's time to come inside."

"She tried to feed it, but it's always hungry." Her voice faded.

The girl's eyes dimmed once more as she drew into herself. She complied as the woman gently pulled her to her feet and ushered her away. Hemery was grateful that the girl had someone who looked after her, even if it was Graham.

Sighing, Hemery looked down into the ashy mud. They would have to wait until the morning to get real answers from witnesses to the fire.

Something glinted in the dirt, catching her eye. First, she thought it was reflections in the small puddles, but then she realised it was metal. Picking it up and twisting it in her fingers, the mud came loose, revealing a round gem on a tarnished silver band.

A ring. Probably belonged to the Brages.

She wiped it on the hem of her cloak. Grey in the low light, the stone was polished and untouched by fire. If left here, it would most likely fall into oblivion.

Graham came up to Hemery, and she hid the small object in her closed palm. She had to force herself to not forcefully shun his presence and duck away from him as quickly as possible. She rose, pretending to watch Asta being led away past the dwarves.

"Curious coincidence, would you not say, that you would appear now when half the town lies in ruins?" Graham asked her.

Hemery did not know where he was going with this, but she knew it could not be good. She decided to not make it easy for him.

"Curious? Not really. Your neighbours are concerned when such . . . _incidents_ occur. You should be grateful to have people comin' to your aid who care." She tried to sound like the dwarves where old friends of his, making the bizarre comparison for her own amusement.

"But that _you_ of all people would join them," Graham added.

Hemery said nothing. He obviously knew who she was. It would be ridiculous to pretend she did not know who he was as well.

"How's Hanah?" he asked casually, as if inquiring about the weather.

She pressed her nails into her palms, still not speaking, still not looking at him.

"I hear she's done well," he continued. "Bearing the bastard of a dwarf prince. She's outdone herself this time."

"At least she's not in your clutches anymore," Hem stated through tense jaws. She was afraid she would hit him if she looked at him.

"Yes, I daresay it's better she stays where she is," he agreed. His tone was light, but she knew he did not speak out of concern for Hanah's well fare. "Must be a weight on her shoulders, though, having to live each day knowing she'll never pay for her crimes."

Hemery stiffened. Of course, he could not possibly know about Maaret, she convinced herself. Maaret had been buried ten years ago in an unmarked grave by the Long Lake. Only a handful of people knew of her fate, and who she had been.

Had Maaret not tried to kill Hemery, Hanah, and Fíli, one could almost pity Graham for not knowing what happened to his sister. But she had, so Hemery did not.

Graham went on. "She's still wanted for robbery, horse-thievery, and murder."

"Murder?" Hem hissed in disbelief, turning to stare at him.

"Indeed." He glanced at her indifferently.

She noticed Kíli and Thorin watching them, growing restless where they stood. They were curious, perhaps worrying about Graham and what they spoke of. And rightly so.

"And who is she supposed to have killed?" she asked, refusing to take even the smallest piece of information under consideration when uttered by him.

"One of Lady Brage's guards. She bludgeoned him out by the cottage before escaping on his horse. He later died from his wounds."

The ground tilted suddenly beneath Hemery's feet. Her breathing quickened––she could see the clouds of air billowing from her mouth at a rapid pace, and she felt nausea rise in her throat.

Graham lied. He must.

Hemery's ears buzzed. She turned away from him again, fearing she would faint or vomit or rage at him, trying to claw and tear out his tongue from his deceitful mouth.

But it was too specific. The guard had been there. Hemery had hit him. Hard. They had escaped on his horse. They had left the guard to his fate. He might well have died from the cold if not from the violence.

Hemery had only hit him to save Hanah, but ultimately, they had killed him. Hemery and Hanah's actions and choices had killed him.

However, she could not let Graham know this.

"That's bollocks," Hemery managed, contracting every muscle in her body to keep from trembling.

The accusation may have been true, but Graham had no evidence for any of it. It was all conjecture.

"It's bollocks, and you know it," she spat before walking away.

She passed Thorin and Kíli, vaguely pointing toward the inn with her chin as she did so. She did not look to see if they caught her meaning, hiding her face beneath her hood. She did not trust her voice or her features at the moment. Fortunately, she heard their heavy steps on the wet ground as they followed.

Tarren bid good night outside the inn and wished them luck.

Looking around before they went inside, Hemery noticed one or two windows where people had been peering out at them from a safe distance. She felt like Tarren was the only one who had solid reason to dislike Thorin and the dwarves, but was somehow the least hostile towards them.

Subconsciously slipping the ring into her pocket, she forced herself to turn her back to the residents of this toxic town.

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><p>Without even washing first, Hemery, Kíli, and Thorin had supper in the king's room. Hem managed to down most of her bowl of soup and some bread, but she still felt waves of nausea now and then, fighting a tremble in her hands. In the end, she was just staring into the fire, leaning her head in her hand with an elbow on the table.<p>

"Hem?" Thorin's voice roused her from her torpor.

"Hmm?" she dropped her hand, looking around.

Apparently, Kíli had already left to his own room, probably to go to sleep. She should too.

"The day's ride did not exhaust you so much that you'll fall asleep at my table," Thorin said. "You should retire. Get out of those wet clothes."

She spotted his damp fur coat hanging over a chair by the fire. She almost wanted to smile, but found no humour left in the joke.

Thorin watched her. "What's the matter?"

Hemery shook her head automatically, but had no strength to dispel his worries. "I don't know," she answered vaguely, despite knowing exactly what made her miserable. To her mortification, she could feel tears gather in her eyes. She feared she would break down if he pried the truth from her.

Thorin got up from his seat, came around the table and poured something into her cup. He pushed it toward her.

She took it and brought it to her mouth. She thought it was water, but a dense, earthy scent filled her nose. It was wine. She frowned.

"No," she objected weakly, putting it down. Spirits had not helped last time she was upset, at the tavern with Kíli, but perhaps it was because it was Kíli who had spurred her.

"One sip," Thorin said calmly. "No more."

She obliged, feeling shallow warmth as the drink went down her throat.

"Now, tell me," he insisted, sitting beside her.

Hem rubbed her forehead tiredly. "It's just . . . That fuckin' Graham," she blurted out, feeling wretched tears run down her cheeks. They were impossible to stop or hide now.

"What did he do?" his voice was strangely flat.

She looked at him. His face was dark, and the flickering shadows from the fireplace made him look fiercer than his usual temper painted him.

"Whatever he did, I will undo it," he said. And it actually sounded like he meant it.

Hem whimpered in a half-laugh which quickly turned into a sob. She put her hand in front of her mouth to stifle her pathetic noises.

Thorin astonished her, most often with his moods and rough manners, but sometimes with his courage and will power. If only he could undo it, she would do whatever he asked. She would follow him to the end of the world. But he could not.

She shook her head. "It's not even him. It's me . . . I made a horrible, _horrible_ mistake."

He listened quietly, sensing the gravity in her words.

"When Hanah and I left Blackwater ten years ago, we were set upon by one of the landlord's guards. We almost didn't make it. He was on top of her, holdin' her down, chokin' her, and I––" She could hardly form the words. "I hit him."

Thorin's face was blank, but she knew he took in every detail.

"I hit him in the head with an iron rod . . . and he didn't get up," she said simply but meaningfully.

"Good," Thorin said, pursing his mouth in a grimace of distaste.

Hem jerked at his bark, shocked by his vehemence.

"Anyone who assaults defenseless souls is a criminal, no matter who commands him. I take it Mister Graham just now informed you of the fate of this man," he guessed.

She nodded, befuddled.

"Death is always regrettable––"

Hem winced at his speech.

"––but it was not your intention. You did what your instinct and judgement bound you to do. What else could you do?" he challenged.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know."

His hand covered hers, and she promptly opened her eyes to meet the steel of his stare. His skin was warm and dry, enfolding her cold digits on the table.

Thorin had not touched her in almost ten years, and never for any other purpose than a farewell handshake. But she did not have time to process its meaning because he was speaking again.

"You were a child. A twelve year old girl removing the threat to her sister's life. I know you. I know your story. You are not to blame for what circumstance and spiteful men thrust in your path."

"But I killed someone," she whispered, transfixed by his gaze.

"And that is unfortunate, yes," he replied in his calm rumble, nodding in sympathetic agreement. "But surviving in a violent world does not make you evil, it makes you strong."

Hemery snorted unladylike. "Doesn't feel like it."

"Not now, but it will."

She held his eyes for a moment. There was patience and assurance there, but also sadness.

"Have you––" she began, uncertain. "Have you killed anyone . . . outside wartime? Men, or dwarves?"

He briefly closed his eyes. "Aye, I have. People who tried to cage me, and people who tried to kill me. And I've learned from it and learned to live with it, like we all must learn to live in conditions we cannot control."

Hem frowned. She recognised that phrase. What was it? Something they had talked about, a long time ago. About Fíli's poisoning, and the misfortune of dwarves and Hemery's family.

She scrunched her nose at that, almost smiling. He was right; she had been a child. A naïve child who told him that bad things happening were not products of misfortune but life, and that all things must be adapted to and not dwelled at.

"If I had known then what I know now, perhaps I wouldn't have been so bloody chipper," she claimed.

"Trust me––you have never been chipper," he said, smirking and tightening his hold on her hand.

She chuckled through the tears, despite herself, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, not wanting to disturb the hand resting beneath Thorin's.

"When did you come to know me so well?" Hem asked, only half in jest.

"I don't know," he replied, serious. His eyes were on their joined hands. "But I do know you, do I not?"

Something squeezed her heart. Did he know how much stronger she was with him? Did he know how both his encouragement and his criticism made her want to grow? As much as she hated when he spoke harshly and unthinkingly, she appreciated the unfiltered honesty of those moments. She felt like she knew him better for it. And she knew herself better for observing her own reactions to him.

Hemery turned her hand over under his, locking their fingers together.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His gaze returned to her, surprised. "Thank _me_?"

"For givin' me a chance. I know most people wouldn't even consider allowin' a woman, especially not a girl of men, into the meltin' pot of politics and conflict. And though I've disappointed you in the past, you've never ignored me or given up on me."

And even when he learned she had killed a man, Thorin could still look at her like she was righteous and good.

He watched her with a pensive frown. "You've never disappointed me," he said, almost imperceptibly low. "I do not expect you to be anything other than what you are."

What was she? Was she his friend who could share his fire and his counsel? Or was she simply the girl who took care of the issues related to men? Or both? She was torn in so many directions, and she was too tired to draw any conclusions. Tomorrow would be a long day as well.

"I knew it wouldn't be easy comin' back here," Hem said, sighing. "It's like the very air is suffocatin'."

"You'll breathe easier in the morning."

Yes. He was probably right. She should get some sleep.

Hemery stood then, Thorin mirroring her movement. She did not want to go, or let go, but she had to. Slowly, she released his hand, tracing his strong fingers until they ended, leaving only air on her skin. His hand stayed the same, as if he was still holding hers.

His features were unreadable once more, only watching her like he did when he expected her to speak. But she did not know what he wanted her to say.

"Good night, Sire," she whispered before leaving his room.


	13. Chapter 13 — Unexpected Mares

Thanks to all who add, and to my reviewers: Skywolf42, Pint-sized She-Bear, Wynni, gillyinn, Vanafindiel, Wraithangel71, raeshell, GingerSnap91, dragynfyre18, Tarask, and punky warhammer!

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><p>Chapter 13 – Unexpected Mares<p>

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><p>Hemery woke up sweating in the early morning, unable to go back to sleep. Her heart beat furiously, but she did not know why. And when she closed her eyes, only blood, ash, and snarls like those of wild animals endured.<p>

At dawn, she rose to get some fresh air. The sky was grey as she stepped out alone. Bror was still resting, and she had no other guard with her. A few other early risers moved along the muddy streets, starting their business for the day. The kitchen workers at the inn had been readying the breakfast as she left, but Hemery had no appetite.

After circling the town, calming some nameless nervousness in her gut, she arrived at the burning site. The rubble was completely dead after last nights rain. No more smoke escaped the ashes.

It had been a great house, she reflected. Large and tall––all wood. But it had been vulnerable. When fire caught on, it could only be a matter of moments before an entire building was engulfed and beyond saving. She had seen it before. It did not stop until there was nothing left to consume.

Hemery felt a chill along her spine.

It is always hungry.

"Miss Skinner," a hoarse female voice called, accompanied by a steady footfall in the wet dirt.

Hem turned to see Vannur approach her from the inn. The dwarf did not wear a helmet or head covering against the cold morning, but her thick hair hardly stirred in the wind. Hemery briefly thought Vannur must hold a much higher temperature than she who had to wear layers of linen and wool under her hooded cloak.

Although Vannur's forehead was smooth and untroubled with assured, marked, aquiline eyebrows, Hemery's first thought was that something was wrong to have forced the king's guard to look for her. Ice spread in her chest, inexplicable and instant.

But Vannur's voice remained low and cool when she came to stand next to Hemery. "You shouldn't wander on your own, Miss." Then she fell silent and still.

True, she should not strain Bror more than necessary by disappearing without a word, but she also did not wish to force him to insomnia just because she had been. It was just a walk around the town. Hem would not be as noticeable as the dwarves when pursuing their investigation, but she guessed any anonymity would soon be ruined anyway.

"Mornin'," Hem said, clearing her throat, working the gravel from her unused voice. "Was that all?"

"Aye, Miss." Vannur remained by her side.

Hemery looked around, as if expecting more dwarves to join them since Vannur seemed to wait for something, but there was no one.

"Have you been sent to summon me?" Hem asked confused.

"No, Miss. The king grew concerned when you would not answer your door. I'm assigned to your watch."

But Vannur was Thorin's personal guard.

"There's no need. Bror will be up soon, and I won't dwell long."

"King's orders, Miss." Vannur was immune to Hem's arguments. "Bror is to regain his strength and return to duty this evening. I'll not leave you until he is present and combat ready."

The ice in Hem's stomach renewed its chill. "You expectin' combat?"

"Always, Miss."

Hemery sighed. Of course, like Dwalin, Erebor's soldiers were in a state of constant vigilance when on duty. And most of the time off duty, as well.

She made no indication of agreeing or accepting Vannur's statement. She knew it would make no difference to the guard.

"If you don't mind me saying, Miss, you look unwell," Vannur said. "Is anything the matter?"

Hemery felt like she had been asleep all winter, but she knew she had barely slept at all, and that was the problem. Her thought had to push through a grey mist, numb and dull. And the chill in her bones would not dissipate.

"Just tired," Hemery replied.

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><p>The day passed in a haze. At dinner, Hemery sat with Thorin, Kíli, and the Iron Hill dwarves at a corner table in the tavern. She had washed and changed clothes in her room before the meal. The hot meat and the cold water revived her enough to recount the recent events in her mind while the dwarves spoke between themselves.<p>

She had looked for the Brage girl, Asta, but not found her. Graham's people would not admit her to his house to see her. Kíli was just now saying something about how the fire had started upstairs, according to witnesses––Brage's servants and neighbours. That was how everyone downstairs were able to escape while Lord and Lady Brage had not.

Most seemed to believe Asta had started the fire. And although no one wished to speak the actual words, all the facts pointed in that direction. Asta had wanted to leave, but her parents would not allow it. This gave her motive to destroy the place that kept her prisoner and to punish her captors. It would explain how she was unscathed while the Brage's were nowhere to be found.

Granted, no one was in a particular hurry to search for them. Their neighbours were busy overseeing the damage made to their own properties, and Graham who acted as the new master of Blackwater had no interest whatsoever in finding the old landlord. The burn site would probably remain untouched as long as no one claimed the land it soiled.

Hemery had a vague memory of speaking to Kíli and Tarren about some of these issues, but the hours seemed to fuse together, and she could not recall exact conversations. It was like sobering up after a long night of drinking with Kíli at The Dragon's Head. She should pay closer attention to the dwarves' discussion, she thought.

Changing focus from her plate to her dinner companions, Hemery met Thorin's gaze.

How long had he been watching her? Had he tried to address her like last night and she had not responded? She could not tell. Though seemingly engaged in the discussion, his eyes kept coming back to her.

"Since we arrived," Dagný spoke, "we've received requests to reintroduce trade and transport negotiations with Blackwater."

"By Mister Graham?" Kíli asked in disbelief. Hemery idly thought he was right to distrust any good will from him.

"No, but several other merchants and manufacturers," Bírn explained further.

"We'll be leaving the ridge soon," Sigurd said. "So we suggested a general hearing in the morning to establish some line of communication and present a rudimentary exchange-of-services deal. Similar to what you did with Esgaroth."

It was a good idea, Hemery agreed silently. When Lake Town had been destroyed thirty years ago, Erebor helped rebuild it, subsequently owning the entire city, basically. Blackwater was also in need of reconstruction. Besides the Brages' house and everything around it, preventive measures had to be introduced to the growing population if another fire were to rage.

There were many people in this town, but no one took care of them. There was no school, no house of healing, no defences, no public forum, no official landlord––nothing. Erebor and the Iron Hills were in perfect condition and location to help with these issues.

"Do you think they'll agree to that?" Kíli asked.

"If we appeal to their sense as opposed to their fear," Grani said. "Stress the advantages of being allies as opposed to estranged neighbours. The people are scared and tired of being ruled by selfish lords."

"Did you see what they did to the old mines?" Dagný asked.

"An atrocity," Thorin rumbled in response.

"Aye, though they weren't mining––they were looking for Brage's sons. Trying to find the remains of boys who died decades ago. And they forced half the town to put their own lives and livelihoods on hold to do it."

"Bloody Mahal," Kíli muttered.

"Like slaves they worked," Dagný clarified, nodding. "Trust me, if we offer a peaceful hand, the people of this town will accept it."

"What about the power shift?" Thorin asked. "Will the new management allow it?"

"Graham's the one with the soldiers in his pocket," Kíli said. "Should we expect problems on that end?"

Hemery thought about the man who had only spoken to her once, but had influenced her life so fundamentally. When he jabbed her about Hanah and her supposedly half-dwarf bastard the day before, he did it for her ears only, though Thorin and Kíli also could have been injured by it. He wanted her to hurt––her and Hanah––but he did not dare push the dwarves.

"Graham is not like Brage," she said. "He may not approve of your kin, but he's not foolish enough to provoke you. Not to your faces. I think––"

She paused, suddenly aware of how much depended on her words. If these honourable dwarves listened to her and heeded her advise, she could be part of great change at Blackwater, or great destruction. She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts.

"I think that . . . If you manage to sway the people before you leave, secure their good will . . . Graham will follow."

Kíli and Thorin contemplated the idea with tentative nods. The Iron Hill dwarves watched Hemery carefully, as if not convinced her opinion mattered at all. For once, Hemery did not care. They did not know her, but she knew herself. And she had been entrusted to aid the communication between the cities, and she would do it. For Hanah, for Thorin, and for their family.

"Spread the word," Thorin told the others. "We assemble in the morning to establish negotiations. Most importantly, the meeting will be open to all who wish to attend."

"Aye," the others approved, and finished their meal.

Then Thorin leaned toward Hemery slightly, speaking low to avoid the others' attention.

"Vannur reported you'd been distracted today. Are you unwell?"

She sighed. Of course her sleepwalker state had been visible. Perhaps she was getting sick?

He frowned when she would not answer immediately. There was no use in attempting to persuade him she was fine, that much was certain.

"I'll get some rest. I should be fine in the mornin'."

* * *

><p>But Hemery could not sleep. As soon as she entered her room, she was overwhelmed by worries for tomorrow and unknown threats, and when she lay down in her nightclothes under the covers, the bed provided no warmth. Trembling and turning, she fell into a feverish state, half-awake, half-dreaming. More ash and blood filled her senses.<p>

Suddenly, she was wide awake. Too awake. She saw everything clearly, heard every creak of the wood, every beat of her heart, but distantly like through a window or at the end of a tunnel. The visions had been dreadful, but she did not recall what happened. She had been looking for Thorin. He was hurt or . . . worse. Her stomach clenched painfully at the thought.

She wanted to see him. Was he really just down the hall? Was he safe in his room? She could not just go to check on him in the night. Or could she? What if she did nothing? What if something happened to him here where everyone hated dwarves? What if he was poisoned like Fíli? Another stab to her stomach.

The pain did not go away. Hemery paced her room restlessly, quicker and quicker until she was sure she was hyperventilating. She pressed cool fingers against her scalp. Why could she not shrug the feeling of terror, the fear of something harming him at this very moment?

She had to see him.

Barefoot, Hemery walked silently down the hall to not alert the guards at the entrance of the corridor. The only source of light came from a small window filtering pale moonlight at the end of the hallway. The shadows seemed to move, an oily blackness covering the floor and streaming over her feet like water flowing from the king's threshold. She knocked gently, but when she heard no sound from within, she increased the force. On the third try, she finally noticed movement behind the door.

Thorin opened a crack to glare at whoever disturbed his peace, but swung the door open completely when he saw Hemery. Quickly he ushered her inside, glancing around as if to detect the reason for her appearance.

Establishing the corridor as empty, he closed the door and turned to face her. He wore only a thin shirt and trousers. This was the first time she had seen him in anything less than three layers of fur, wool, and linen. The relief that flooded her when she saw him in his entirety, standing there, alive and breathing, was overwhelming. She threw her arms around his shoulders, embracing him tightly. Though she saw him only hours ago, it felt like months.

Hemery's senses peaked. She had his strong back beneath her hands, his soft, long hair between her fingers, his shoulder against her nose inhaling his scent of leather, soap, and sleep. Nothing seemed to have roused him except her insistent knocking. A few heartbeats passed before she felt cautious, hot palms brushing her shoulder blades through her shift.

That snapped her out of her reverie. She berated herself for her selfishness. She had come to make sure he was safe, but all she was concerned with was to calm herself with his presence.

Pulling back, she looked into his face. Nothing marred his skin, no blood or abrasions. Only a surprised sort of wonder graced his features, which was to be expected since she woke him in the middle of the night. She ran her fingers over his brow, his cheeks, tracing his bearded jaw and continued down his neck, searching for injuries.

Thorin's own hand rose to graze her cheek.

"Hem . . ." Her name was a hoarse whisper in the gloom.

She hardly noticed how whatever he was going to say trailed off, letting her eyes and hands travel further down his chest, over his shirt, up his back, down his arms. If he was bleeding or broken in any way, she should be able to see it. But if the harm was within––Hemery shuddered at the memory of poison––her examination would be fruitless, finding nothing until it was too late. What if she was already too late?

Frustrated and wrecked with exhaustion, fear, and pain, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder. She grasped his hand in hers, clutching it hard, and emitted a painful wheezing sound. A sigh without strength for tears.

"Hemery?"

A careful hand was placed on her head, as if to comfort her. She broke away at the thought. She had no time for comfort–– she needed to find the threat. There had to be a threat, something she missed. Otherwise, why did she feel this fear?

Looking around the room, she followed the wall with her hand to make sure they were solid and not an illusion. She tore at the bed linens, ripped off blankets and furs. Strained to look beneath the bed and behind furniture. Opened cupboards and turned over the table.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

When she sat down on the floor, finding a knife to cut open the stuffing of one of the chairs, Thorin stopped her. Holding her wrists as if shackled between them, he forced her to look at him.

"What is the matter? Say something."

Hemery stared at him a moment. His eyebrows knotted, he regarded her apprehensively, as if he was worried _she_ was hurt and not the other way around.

She looked at his hands holding hers and froze. What was she thinking, coming to the king's room at night, unbidden, throwing herself in his arms, and ruining his bedding as well as his sleep? Suddenly, she flushed. She should really return to her room.

But she could not. There was _something_ wrong. Something clawing at her sleep deprived mind. Dizziness tilted her world briefly.

"I don't know," she answered miserably, letting go of the knife. It clattered against the floor. "I just have this ache, this fear I can't shed. Somethin's comin' . . . or is already here––I don't know. There's a mist in my head, blindin' me. We're in danger, _you're_ in danger––" Hemery stopped her rambling when she realized how she must sound. ". . . Sire," she finished meekly.

Thorin's blue gaze pierced her, sharp and discerning.

"You sound like the Brage woman," he muttered.

Annoyance flared suddenly. She glared at him. Why could he not feel it? He had to believe her.

"I'm not mad." Twisting her hands free and standing up straight, she challenging him with a determined frown of her own.

"We must leave this place as soon as possible," she said, sober and practical now.

Thorin rose, turned the chair right side up, and sat down heavily on it.

"We cannot leave until we've established what has happened here. And the new _landlord_ will be another pain in my arse if we don't conclude our dealings with him before going home."

"That one—landlord?" Hem scoffed, beginning to pace restlessly. "Don't make me laugh."

"Doesn't matter what he calls himself. He'll be a problem if we do not crush this little empire of his in its infancy."

"Then call for reinforcements. We are too few. You're the king and practically defenceless out here. The fences are demolished by the fire, and even if they were intact, we'd be locked in with people who despise dwarves and your supposed claim to this land."

"I have claimed nothing yet."

"To them—to Graham—you have just by comin' here."

"And summoning a legion would help matters how?"

Hemery wrung her hands. "Not an army, but . . . " She tried to find a compromise that he might accept. "Five hundred?"

Thorin sighed and rubbed his forehead. But he did not refuse immediately.

"Four hundred then?" Hemery pleaded, kneeling in front of him between his feet, her hands on the armrests on either side. "We're all alone out here."

He regarded her a long moment.

"I'll summon three, but I fear it will cost me a dear price." His tone was grave, but he gave his assent, nonetheless.

Hemery breathed out, closing her eyes. "Thank you, Sire."

She rose to leave. However, the simmering in her gut did not dissipate. She should go to her room now, but she knew she would only toss and turn until morning, feeling the walls close in on her. She hesitated at the door.

Thorin seemed to recognise her unease.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked patiently and considerate.

He had already done her a great service. How could she explain that it was not enough?

"What can be done to calm your mind?"

She had never heard him speak with such a soft voice before. She wished she could stay in his room, watching over him and having him watch over her. But that was impossible. Short of going home, there was nothing to be done.

Hemery would never be safe in Blackwater again. Not like she had been as a small child in the presence of her father and sister. And it was not herself she feared for. Who would protect Thorin? Who _could_ protect Thorin?

Hem met his eyes carefully, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

"I wish Hanah and Dwalin were here."

For once, she did not hide her fears and insecurities from him when he searched her face. When he found what he was looking for in her countenance, he nodded in understanding.

"May I ask you spend the night in Vannur's room?" he asked carefully like treading on ice. "I would rather not leave you alone tonight."

Vannur's room was just across the hall. Since she would accompany Hemery during the day, she slept while Bror was on night duty.

Hemery smiled briefly in relief. She really did not want to return to her own room.

"I'd like that," she admitted.

With Vannur's calm, regular breaths persuading her heart to follow the steady rhythm, Hemery could finally allow herself a light slumber.

* * *

><p>Hemery woke with a start as Vannur opened and closed the door to the room. For a moment, she could not remember where she was. Just like last evening, she felt like coming up for air from under water. She had a vague recollection of Thorin asking her to stay with Vannur, but she was not certain. Tired and shaky, she rose to prepare for the day though the pale rays of sun had just touched the treetops outside.<p>

She dressed in a grey tunic over leather trousers, a thin wool shirt on top, covered by her long, riding coat. She slid one knife into each of her boots. With a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her neck several turns to ward off the chill of dawn, she set out on a walk about the town border, outside the high wooden fence. Vannur followed her silently, not objecting like Hem knew Bror would have, but almost curious.

The land sloped. Dry, sandy earth holding a mix of pine, firs, and juniper bushes. The hills made sight a problem. Hemery could only see ten to twenty yards between the trees in each direction.

They passed the dwarves' camp. Some were performing maintenance on tools and weapons. Some they came upon among the trees, patrolling the area like it was the borders of Erebor. It felt familiar and safe to encounter the various dwarven faces in this unstable place.

Fear had driven Hemery out of the town, and she thought she would find it here in the quiet forest as well. But to her surprise, she felt more calm and collected out here than she did at the lodge. She could see how strange her anxiety of the past few days had been, and she tried to view any potential risks from outside herself, from outside the town. Logically, there was a greater risk of danger from Graham or the inhabitants of Blackwater towards the dwarves than any unknown outside force, but she completed the surveillance all the same.

In some places, the fence tilted inwards slightly. The first time, she hardly noticed it, figuring the fence was poorly structured or had moved with weather or soft ground. But at closer inspection, she saw impressions on the planks as if something or someone had pushed at it. The same markings were on the other indentations as well. The undergrowth seemed disturbed, but that could be from any animal, carnivore or herbivore, in the area. In any case, the fence had been tested systematically for weaknesses.

"Something has been tryin' to get in," Vannur stated.

Hem frowned worriedly looking back, nodding. "Aye."

The Brages might have acted appropriately when taking such painstaking precautions, Hemery mused. Perhaps a moat would have been in order.

She looked around at the forest, brown and dark green in the early light. Crows squawked in the distance. The wind tugged at the trees, sounding like rushing water. Though the evidence was right there, she could sense no danger in the calm morning. But in contrast to yesterday, she knew there could be danger even if she did not feel it.

On the last stretch before coming full circle around the town, they found some berries and nuts to eat on the way. In the silence, her thoughts would constantly return to the images of the night––carnage, smoke, and death. It snuck up on her unexpectedly, clinging to her consciousness. She had to physically shake her head and wave her hands in front of her, making a humming sort of noise to erase the imagery and sounds in her mind. As usual of late, she almost forgot that Vannur was with her. She only glanced at Hem, a smirk hiding in her cheek.

"Spiderweb," Hem explained simply, ignoring the amused look.

The entire night felt like a fever dream, a nightmare she could not make sense of. She saw no bodies, nor did she find any of her dear ones she seemed to be looking for in the dream, but she was haunted by a sense of hopelessness, fear, and anger. The mist coated all memories, mixing dream and reality.

At the return to the lodge, the sun had ascended to the point of calling the day into action. People were already gathering in the assembly hall to begin the dialogue between dwarves and men. Following the stream of people, she took a seat at the far end of the dwarves' table. She saw Graham's lot, all haughty demeanour and ready to show all kinds of new insolence in tribute to the new day. Many of the town's people attended the meeting as well, standing or sitting around wherever there was room.

As the room settled, she cast a glance about her own table, catching Thorin's eye where he sat in the middle. He raised an eyebrow in question, to which she had no response. She maintained a neutral expression, searching her surroundings for whatever he might be referring to with his silent query.

Something was missing. Hem leaned back towards the closest dwarf guard who was standing in line, very official looking, behind the table.

"Where's Prince Kíli?" she whispered.

"Don't know, Miss," came his rough but honest reply.

Before she could ask anything else, the hall was called to order, and the meeting begun.

Over the course of the day, very little was agreed upon––nothing, to be specific. Hemery found herself sliding further down in her seat and almost nodding off a few times. The dwarves conveyed their concern about the future of the community because of the previously unstable government, but got very little response.

Dain's representatives did rather well, Hem thought. They regaled clearly the dire financial circumstances and defenceless state the town was in. They also attempted––quite civilly by dwarven standards––to offer their services to rebuild the town, under Khazad banner, of course.

Graham's camp, on the other hand, acted like adolescents who imagined themselves capable of handling the well fare of a thousand people with no experience whatsoever, refusing any help from the dwarves. They were naturally "grateful" for Erebor's and the Iron Hills' concerns, but thoroughly dismissed any and all ideas of submission.

When the sun was so low on the horizon that candles had to be lit in the hall, Hemery lost her patience. She was hungry and tired of these people thinking themselves important, dwarves as well as men.

She stood so abruptly that her chair swayed on two legs an instant before bouncing back against the stone floor. The banging drew everyone's attention.

"Your Highness," she proclaimed cordially, as proper when addressing an official hearing. When she turned to Graham to address him, she merely inclined her head. "Mister Graham."

Her voice barely masked her scorn.

"Many of you don't want to release your claim on the ridge, and King Thorin doesn't wish to take it from you––"

"Miss Skinner––" Gráni interjected, trying to stop her for fear of what she might claim next. He turned to his opposition. "She does _not _speak for the dwarves."

"The way I see it," Hemery stated, undeterred. "You have the right to dwell here because you were born here, and you have made it your home."

A few scattered "aye" and other muttered agreements were heard through the hall.

"However," she continued, "while Mister Graham may be a successful merchant, he cannot guarantee the people of Blackwater a safe and fair society. The knowledge and experience doesn't exist in this town. There's not even a school or healin' institution. There are too many people, and you can't tax them just for security in the form of mercenaries. Why should they pay tax to someone who will pay soldiers in order to keep taxin' people? It's folly."

A murmur erupted in the audience. The dwarves spoke between themselves. Thorin sat unmoved, but she knew him better than to miss the smug smirk that pulled at his mouth.

"As for King Thorin," she went on. "His Majesty has his mountain. None of his kin wants to live here. His Majesty doesn't want the land, and he doesn't need it. But there is still gold in the ridge, probably worth mining for another hundred years. I suggest a fee be paid to Erebor for the minin' of Blackwater Ridge in return for Erebor's aid in rebuilding the minin' system and education in the healin' arts and general literacy to benefit all the citizens of Blackwater."

A loud chatter ensued, some booing in outrage and some clapping. Graham stood and held up his hand to silence the crowd enough for him to be heard.

"That is quite a speech for someone who has not lived here for ten years. You do not know this land. You do not know us."

Hemery knew what he was doing. He attempted to turn the citizens against her, drawing on their sense of belonging––them against the outsiders.

"Who says we need your help?" he continued confidently. "We managed during the Brage's reign, and we'll manage now without them. We don't need the dwarves' help."

"If you don't form an agreement now, it will be disastrous later when your minin' encroaches on Erebor's territory. The question is––do you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, or theirs?"

The dwarves would be less friendly the closer to home the threat of Blackwater appeared.

"We both know where that ore will lead you," she warned.

Graham's face darkened as he leaned forward over the table.

"Our land––our gold," he maintained.

"You mean your gold!" one brave voice called from the crowd, starting a new wave of loud agreements and protests.

Thorin rose. Not aggressively, but determined and with such command that all hushed when he spoke.

"Just because Brage's grandfather put a rag on a stick and stuck it in the ground did not make it his land. Neither does his demise grant you authority in this assembly. It takes more than mercenaries to form an independent state, and Erebor does not recognise your horseshit council." He pointed to the handful of men at Graham's table.

Excited voices, clapping, and whistling, erupted in the hall.

If the king did not acknowledge Graham's ability to speak for the town, there would be no agreement. But it also meant that the citizens now knew the neighbouring kingdoms had no respect for Graham as a leader.

"The people of Blackwater have five days to assemble a council of at least eleven members. Whether you choose to include this buffoon in it is up to you. We will resume our talks at that time."

With those words, he left the hall in an uproar, his councilmembers following suit.

"That was a remarkable waste of a day," Hemery said as she caught up with Thorin on his walk back to their lodgings.

"On the contrary."

She shadowed her narrowed eyes with one hand as she regarded him, the setting sun blinding her before crawling below the treeline.

"I believe we have shortened our visit here significantly," he went on. "In less than six days, we will have an agreement with a newly formed council of this town. I hope you brought some reading. You will have an idle week before we go home."

It was then that Hemery realised he welcomed the abrupt turn of events in their negotiations as it allowed him to push it into a more favourable direction.

She nodded, relaxed. "Very good, Sire."

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, low and serious, as if careful to not let anyone overhear.

She frowned at him. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Thorin put a hand on her elbow. The touch was so light it was almost imperceptible, but she registered it clearly.

"Hemery . . . last night, I––"

He paused, gathering his words. He seemed worried now, a sharp turn from the satisfaction she had just witnessed. Was something wrong? The first thought in her head was that she would ride to Erebor and back in the blackest night if he asked––whatever he needed, she would produce it for him.

But she could say none of that, so she just regarded him, wide eyes, waiting tensely.

In the same instant, the sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving the streets in blue shadow, and a distant howl sounded through the air. Hem and Thorin looked north toward the sound.

That was no ordinary wolf.

A bell tolled from the temple next to the remains of the big house. Shouts were heard from the gates.

The dwarf party moved quickly to intercept any informant coming up the street, but they met only villagers seeking shelter in their homes. Whatever the bell tolled for, people knew it was not good. At the town square, a larger group of people gathered in anticipation of the news.

Soon, a man ran from the northern gate toward the mass.

"Orcs! Orcs are at the gate."

Startled and terrified exclamations erupted in the square. Thorin made his way to the informant.

"How many?" he demanded.

"Five hundred strong, at least. Hard to tell."

"How close?"

"They'll be here within the hour."

Someone from the crowd spoke out. "But we're safe behind these walls, right? That's what they're built for."

"Nothing to keep out wargs of Gundabad," replied Gráni. "They'll rip through those twigs like paper."

"Why have they come?" Hem asked. "Blackwater never had problems with orcs before."

"Attracted by the smoke, I gather," Thorin guessed. "Like vultures drawn by the promise of death and carnage."

"Like yourself then?" Graham appeared in the crowd, followed by his soldiers.

"Spend less time with pointless accusations and more time rallying your men," Thorin advised venomously.

The soldier next to Graham spoke. "We have no hope of beating back five hundred of those foul creatures. Not if they have wargs among them."

"I paid you generously for these circumstances." Graham did not wish to believe he had spent his hard earned gold for nothing.

"No use if we all die," the mercenary replied. "I will not risk my men on a hopeless venture to be slaughtered and devoured by orcs."

"Nasty way to go," Gráni muttered under his breath. Hemery stared at him. Could he not just shut up if he had nothing to contribute?

"But you live here, don't you?" Hem asked. "Do it for your families if nothin' else."

The man did not reply, only turned and walked away, Graham following. There was no telling what they would choose to do.

"Men like that have no families," Thorin said. "We're lucky if any of them stand with us."

"What now?" Hemery asked.

"Hold them off until mornin'," Dagný said. "When that is no longer possible––well . . ." she trailed off.

Watching Thorin's determined features and his hand grasping the hilt of his sword, Hem was glad she had him at her side in the face of such peril. He met her eye with a darker expression than she had ever witnessed, his lips curling fiercely as in derision of weak men and soulless orcs, and in utter defiance of death itself.

"I'm nothing if not reasonable. If it's carnage the orcs seek––we will oblige them."


	14. Chapter 14 – Unexpected Saviour

Thanks to all who add and to my reviewers: Wynni, gillyinn, Hobbitpony1, Mataflower, acldheart, Vanafindiel, gingerSnap91, FeeKilico, Skywolf42, Pint-sized She-Bear, xXtryingXx, Fanny Tompkins, Wraithangel71, dragynfyre18, BlackAdder, Guest, and Fantasylover101!

Song inspired by Garmarna – Bläck.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13 – Unexpected Saviour<p>

* * *

><p>The next hour was a flurry of movements. All dwarves were summoned to enter the town to prepare some kind of defence against the approaching orc hoard. Plenty of grown men, those who were able to hold a weapon, joined them and quickly accepted Thorin's authority in the situation. Dwarves were known for their extensive military training and discipline, and Hemery recognised a trace of relief in the men's eyes to have such a confident leader to turn to in the face of this unprecedented threat.<p>

However, she knew many more people dwelled in the area. It seemed they chose to not participate. How they would protect themselves and their families, by hiding or fleeing, she would rather not guess.

Hemery was surprised at how easily the dwarves took their stand. Blackwater was not their responsibility, but none contemplated the alternative of not fighting. It did not seem to even enter their minds to just leave the town to its fate. They knew they had to stay because it was the only reasonable way, the only honourable way, to be. It was not their custom to turn their back on a conflict––especially not on ground that connected veins of stone and precious metal to Erebor.

A few women also joined them, but only those who seemed to have experience of combat or were skilled with a bow and could stay back from brawn and blades.

When Hemery exited the lodge where she had retrieved more knives to fasten around her belt, Thorin's voice reached her.

"You are not fighting."

She whirled to face him, surprised.

"I'm perfectly capable––"

"Irrelevant," he interrupted her. "I don't want you to."

And Hemery did not want to fight. She wanted to be at home in her bed in Erebor, but she guessed neither would have their wishes granted. She nearly scoffed. It did not matter what he wanted or thought appropriate.

"You need all the help you can get," she spoke lower, not allowing anyone to hear her less than positive argument.

"You've never fought orcs, and if can help it, you never shall."

"Dwalin has trained me since I was twelve––"

"And you do not believe he would express exactly the same opinion as I on this?" He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

She gritted her teeth. Dwalin would probably agree with Thorin. A rare occasion indeed––one which Hem would see the humour in had the circumstances differed.

"Aid in gathering the others at the temple. It has sturdy walls, a decent gate. It should keep the children and old folks safe."

Safe? For how long? Thorin could not guarantee anything, and he knew it.

"I'm to do nothin' while you're out here riskin' you're neck?" Hem glared at him.

He stared back, his patience on a knife's edge, but he managed to ignore her provocation.

"Make sure the others are safe," he maintained, calm but determined. "If you must join us, do it after, and stay at the back. Keep close to the others––you will protect each other. Don't stray from your line."

He concluded his speech and left her in the street to return to the northern gate. Hemery kicked the gravel hard with one foot and clenched her fists. Damn dwarf.

Then she froze, remembering something.

"Oy! Where's Kíli?" Hem called after him, but he had already disappeared in the swarm of people.

Frustrated and without purpose, she did as Thorin suggested. She helped gather the people who were still huddled in their houses, urging them to go to the temple where they would be safe. Safer.

When she had checked that the houses furthest from the temple were empty, she went back to the northern gate, but there was no one there.

Suddenly, hollering and screeches filled the air, echoing between the buildings in the ghostly vacant street. She spun around, trying to find the origin.

Hemery cursed under her breath. Of course, the attack would not come from the northern gate. The orcs did not have to break down the fence when there was a gaping hole at the eastern end where the fire had devoured it.

Hemery ran towards the sound when something heavy dropped from the air, landing in front of her. She skidded to a halt in the mud.

The hunched creature rose, long limbs sluggish, hands hanging low near the ground, clutching a weapon of black metal.

An orc, she settled despite the dark. It must have climbed the fence.

Slowly, the round head tilted up, nose sniffing, focus darting. He saw her. Something sparked in his eyes. A sharp curiosity akin to hate, cold and piercing, cut her with those eyes.

He raised his blade and lunged at her with a squawk like a giant, hoarse magpie.

Scarcely had he moved before the knife from her left holster left her fingers, soaring straight at his chest. It clanged and bounced off his armour.

He swiped at her, she ducked under his arm and turning around, facing his back, and buried her second knife in his exposed neck.

The blade cut through flesh easily; she felt the brief resistance as it snapped tough tendons, and then the stop when it finally met bone. Black blood gushed between her fingers as she held on, following the creature in its fall to the ground. When there was no will left in him, she pulled out the knife and staggered back.

Was it a _he_? She did not know. She could hardly look at him, having to force down bile at seeing the blood mix with muddy water.

She turned, eyes searching the streets, the fence, and the rooftops. Was there more?

It was too dark. She could not tell. She could not stay here; she had to join the other fighters. She collected her knives and moved on.

She stopped abruptly and ducked into an alley at the sight of a moving figure up ahead. Peering around the corner, Hem saw the slight, fair-haired person, definitely mankind, moving towards the fight.

She tried to focus better in the dark. Asta?

Hemery ran after her to catch up. It was clear she was returning to the burn site. What was it with this girl? She must have known it was dangerous.

"Asta," Hem said, touching her shoulder, willing her to stop.

The girl ignored her, moving closer to the cacophony of orcs and men screaming and metal meeting metal. Though one or two buildings separated her view of the battle, Hem knew it was only a matter of time before they were in drawn into the fray like in the surge of the undercurrent of an unstoppable river.

"Come away. You can't be here."

"I need to be with my mother and father."

"No, you really don't. I know you're sad about what happened, but you can't help them now." Hemery tried to gently lead her away towards the temple.

"No!" Asta jerked, tearing out of Hem's grip, striking her across the face with the back of her hand. The girl must have worn a ring or something because a sharp sting smarted on Hemery's cheek. She froze for one heartbeat, and then blood boiled up within her.

If Asta was responsible for the fire, she was partly to blame for the orc attack, and Hemery would not let her perish this night like a martyr suffering under her parents' whip even after their death. Hem gritted her teeth.

"_Move_," she barked at Asta, her patience wearing thin. She grabbed the girl's arm roughly, pulling her along. Asta complied, probably due to surprise and general subservience which had probably been beaten into her from a young age.

They did not get far. Before they reached the temple, two orcs blocked their way. The girls stopped. Hemery looked around, two more approached from behind. The line of defence must have been crumbling, even though only a few had broken through at the moment. More would soon follow.

The buildings around them had no doors on their side, but across the yard was a stable. All horses had been gathered before the fight; those doors might have been left unbolted. Could they make a run for it?

Hemery threw one blade at the closest orc, settling it deep in his throat. This unforeseen attack made one other step back, hissing and screeching discontentedly, but it was only a temporary hesitation. One might scare hungry wolves with a burning torch, but it would never stop their advance completely.

Hemery kept Asta close to her back, shielding her with her arm as much was possible.

"This one pricks," one growled in a stilted accent, pulling out her knife from the neck of his comrade. "Will you pin us with your thorns?" he taunted, as if excited by the little woman who was not as harmless as they initially thought.

"I'll rip those thorns from her body, and the white fingers and the hair and the eyes," another said menacingly.

Hemery gripped another blade, calculating whom to strike first. She feared she would not have time to take all three down.

"Their milk will spill on my tongue. Sweet, soft, tender––" The orc's revolting hiss and his movement towards them was interrupted by a sword violently piercing his neck from behind, converting the words to bubbling, gurgling, unearthly noise. His neighbour followed him, swiftly cut down by the same sword. It glinted in the dark like a vengeful spirit in the night.

Thorin. Hemery was so relieved to see him. She felt a strong urge to embrace him, though she could not. They had to leave, quickly.

She turned to usher Asta away from the fight, but was stopped as if by an invisible wall, a burning pain tearing through her shoulder. Shocked, Hem looked down.

A sword protruded from Asta's chest and had entered Hemery's shoulder, as if it had been living within the girl and now decided to give birth to itself, breaking through its cage of bone and flesh. But when Hemery lifted her gaze, she saw her own reflection in the black eyes of an orc right at Asta's back.

The pain dragged a broken cry from Hem as he withdrew the sword, mauling her flesh further. Asta slumped in Hem's arms, the light quickly fading in her eyes.

Helpless, Hem held on, feeling Asta's hot blood seep through her clothes. It soaked them, its heat leaving a fine mist in the cold night air. Unbidden tears filled Hemery's eyes, blurring her final vision of Asta who would never again been seen alive by anyone but her. Faintly, she was aware of Thorin killing the orc before he could finish Hemery as well.

"Keep moving," he grunted, the stress palpable in his voice as he gripped her collar, prompting her to stand.

Still holding on to Asta's lifeless body, Hem looked up at Thorin. His eyes were wild, blood spatter on his face, but it did not frighten her as much as the fourth orc at his back. Thorin was just about to turn when one leg gave beneath him, cut from behind by the orc's blade.

"Thorin!" Hem cried, letting go of Asta.

The orc sliced the other leg as Hemery stood, rising above the now kneeling dwarf, and plunged a dagger into the eye of the orc. She left her blade in his skull as he fell twitching to the ground.

"Thorin," she called, carefully lifting his face to hers. But her trembling hands were covered in black blood, so she did not want to touch his skin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, fearful that he was fatally wounded. He had been protecting her. He should not have had to be here, fighting three orcs alone. She should have done something. Why did she not have more weapons? Why had she not reacted quicker? Why––?

Thorin growled in pain. Hemery cursed herself. She did not have time to dwell on her own shortcomings right now.

"Let's get out of the street," she said, pulling at his arm. She knew more orcs could appear at any moment. Glancing at the stables, she decided to take shelter there. If only she could move him.

Thorin fell forward on his knuckles when he tried to stand as usual. Leaning heavily on Hemery, he managed to rise and take a few steps towards the stable door. He collapsed on the threshold, pushing the door open with his weight.

"We have to move," she wheezed, frustration and terrified anger swelling in her throat. "I came here to stop you from fightin'. I'll not die for you."

"I would never ask you to," he said.

Hemery would die for him, though, whether he asked her or not. Perhaps she would be forced to prove the extent of her loyalty tonight. The thought gave no comfort.

"Come on––get up," she commanded, pulling at his cloak. Her voice was thin and strained.

Thorin tried, but fell to his knees with an involuntary, guttural sound. Hemery tore at his shoulders, supporting him with her good arm, but she could not help carry him more than two stumbling steps into a corner where he slumped down against the wall.

Hemery quickly closed the door, and then crashed beside him, looking over his legs. She had no idea how bad his injuries were, but he had not fainted from blood loss . . . yet. She tore up her shawl into small strips, binding his legs to stop the blood flow. There was nothing else to do.

Carefully peeking through the window, she saw the distinct movements of orcs in the shadows. Overcome by fatigue and hopelessness, Hem lowered herself onto her knees next to Thorin.

Thorin sighed, resigning himself to an uncertain, but surely mortal, fate.

"If you go out the back, you might make it to the temple." He put his hand on her shoulder, pushing her away.

She merely sat back. A lump formed in her throat.

"They have us surrounded. I can't get in. It's only a matter of time before they start breakin' down doors, searchin' every house."

She looked around for a solution, a way out, a better hiding place, or weapons. But there was nothing.

Thorin took her hand suddenly.

"Hide yourself on the loft."

"Why?" she asked. Hem heard her voice break, despair giving it a high pitch. "To save a few moments? To prolong the inevitable? No."

She shook her head, determined.

"Bloody stubborn woman, will you just do as I say?" he growled impatiently. "I will not lay here useless while they come in and violate you before my eyes."

"And I won't hide myself to stay alive long enough to hear them come for you first."

"You _will_ save yourself," he said. "I'm not debating this with you."

"Well, you can't do much about it, so––no, we're not debatin' this."

Thorin gripped her hand almost painfully, groaning. In pain, frustration, or both, Hem did not know.

She glanced at the window. Shadows in firelight flashed by, one by one or groups, all moving in the same direction. If anyone came in, they were done. Thorin could not rise. Hemery had one dagger left, but her shoulder was hurt. They would not be able to defend themselves for very long.

Hemery had heard stories in Tirith about the orcs from Mordor, how they sometimes would eat their victims, tear their limbs and drink their blood. Asta's broken body flashed in her mind––how her eyes dimmed forever. Silent, hot tears ran down Hem's cold cheeks. What could she do?

"Thorin . . ." she whispered.

He grunted in reply, blinking up at the ceiling, clearly refraining from squeezing his eyes closed in flares of pain.

"When they come . . ."

He shook his head. "Not another word."

She ignored him. "When they come, I want you to––"

"_No_," he growled. "Do not speak it."

"I want _you_ to do it." Hemery placed her dagger on his chest as if it was an offering.

Thorin's other hand clutched hers over the dagger, stopping her from letting go of the blade.

"I said_ no_. Never."

"I don't want to die at the hands of an orc, not . . . like that." Her voice wavered. She tried to blink away her tears.

"You will not die," he insisted. They both knew he could not promise that. But he could promise her to make it as quick and painless as possible when the time came.

"Just one cut––" she said, putting her fingers on the big vein in her throat.

Thorin put his hand on the side of her face, clutching her hair in his fist, as if holding on harder would make her stay alive. He forced her to come closer, her forehead touching his.

"It'll only take a few heartbeats, and then it's over––" she breathed.

"No," he maintained. "I can't. I won't."

She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the pain in his features. No, she could not ask it of him. When it was time, she would take control of her own fate.

"Then I'll do it myself." She tried to pull back, but he held her fast.

"Would you do the same for me if I asked you?" Thorin asked harshly, tightening the fist in her hair until it almost hurt.

An image of Thorin with a knife in his chest, Hemery's hand on the blade slashing his throat, his eyes lifeless and hollow in her mind. She shuddered, and her head fell on his shoulder. Her grip on the dagger loosened.

He was right. That was not the way.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The hand in her hair let go to stroke her head, the other on her back, warm through her layers of leather and wool.

He hushed her gently.

Hemery's arms snaked around his chest, holding on to him as much as she could. It felt better than she ever could have imagined, just having her arms around him, feeling his scent. She was ashamed of how good it felt to touch him after so much time of invisible restraints forbidding it. And she should not take any pleasure out of this moment which may be one of their last, but she did.

Thorin seemed to relax, leaning more on her and the wall. With his legs immobile, there were no more challenges to rise toward, no more mountains to climb. He sighed, holding on to her.

"It was dusk." His voice was low and distant, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Yes," she said, wishing she could go back in time to before the orcs came. "They come at night. That's what they do."

She was tired. And it was useless thinking about what she should have done differently.

"When you returned," he explained. "You had the sunset at your back when your greeted your sister, your face in shadow. But when you turned––I knew the sun had barely risen."

He sounded delirious. Was it the blood loss? She pulled back to look at him.

"What are you talkin' about? How do you know? You weren't there."

"I was there. I just . . . did not go down to meet you. I could not."

Hemery remembered that day. He had not wanted to greet her with the rest of his family. For a long time, she thought he had been angry with her. But the look he gave her now confused her.

Thorin's eyebrows were tightly knitted in focus, pain, or a question? Hem could not tell.

"You were my dawn, Hem. It was always so. A sliver of light after a century of darkness. My beloved friend."

He raised her hand to his mouth, pressing her icy fingers to his lips. Though the gesture was affectionate, it did nothing to calm her. It sounded too much like goodbye in the face of death, as if he greeted _it_ like a friend––not her.

"You're makin' no sense, as usual," she said, trying to smile but sure it was only a tight grimace.

"It's the only sense I have made in many years. Any sensible words heard at my court has been uttered by you––a child of men, the most unlikely of sources."

Hemery chuckled without joy. She was harshly reminded by the drama around his court, though she was much distracted by the way he kept brushing his lips over the pads of her fingers.

"I shouldn't have let myself be wrapped up in the politics of Erebor. I was foolish to let them affect me."

"There's always some truth to idle talk."

She frowned. "Surely, the king of Erebor doesn't listen to gossip?

Thorin pulled on her hand, so she leaned over his chest, his other hand going to her cheek.

"If death awaits us this night, I see no harm in telling you . . . I have seen magicians and witchcraft, and you are no bewitching fairy––whatever the fear and narrow minds of people say––but I am under your spell. This is the truth."

Hemery was on the verge of refuting his words, but found that she did not want to. She knew the wounds affected his senses––blood loss, pain, and poison from an orc blade will do that. His eyes were glassy, but his hands strong. He was not himself at this moment, but he was also right.

Tonight was all there was. Nothing followed it, nothing related to it. This moment was separate from time and existence. Separate from Erebor and the roles they played there. If they were to be no more, nothing she did now would matter.

Hemery leaned in and carefully brushed his lips with hers. Thorin responded, urging her closer, his mouth bruising hers. Her hands came up to his cheeks, feeling the rough beard in her palms. His arms crushed her chest to his until she had no breath. He tasted of salt and iron, sweat and blood. Even as they met over and over in searing kisses, Hem mourned that they were to be tarnished by battle and death––though they would most likely not survive long enough for it to become a memory.

He drew back abruptly, groaning in pain and gritting his teeth. Breathing deeply through his nose, he managed to overcome the wave of agony. He closed his eyes and leaned back, clutching her hand to his chest.

"What can I do?" Hemery asked, fully aware there was nothing to alleviate his pain. She reached out tentatively with her free hand and pushed hair away from his forehead.

"Sing to me."

Hem snorted a half-laugh at the absurd request. "What?" Was he making jokes at a time like this?

Hemery sang with her sister to pass the time, to Híli when lulling her to sleep, and to Dwalin's viola on rare occasions when he brought it to dinner. She never sang in Thorin's company.

"Somehow this smelly stable and the blood seeping from my toxic wounds make me wistful for some faraway land," he replied, not without sarcasm. His remaining wit gave her comfort.

"Hanah's the singer, not me."

"I hear you when you and your sister come in at night. Your voices echo all the way down the hall."

She almost blushed at the thought. It was their favourite thing after a long day, she admitted, to slowly ascend the stairs and raise their voices, distorted under the high ceiling. But only when no one was around. She knew it was not always pretty; they just enjoyed the strength of their sound.

"Transport me with a verse––if you would be so kind," he added, smirking.

With the lump in her throat, she did not know if she could produce anything close to a song. And even in this late hour, she was embarrassed to sing to Thorin.

"Please." He brought her hand back to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

Hem tried to clear her constricted throat, but it did not feel any better. When she began, it came out gravelly and dark, almost without tune.

Pray, give me ink and paper

I wish to pen a letter

And thou will sense and witness

That I will love none better

Soon fire will eat us all

Soon sun will slow its crawl

Dove lose its wings and fall

Ere I leave you here, My Dear.

I used to play the golden dice

I used to play the lute

At once old sorrows left me

Like air flows from the flute

Soon fire will eat us all

Soon sun will slow its crawl

Dove lose its wings and fall

Ere I leave you here, My Dear.

Hemery noticed his grip on her hand loosen. She looked down at his face. It was calm in unconsciousness. Had she not known the poison clawing at his heart with the dull talons of a slow death, had she not seen the blood drenched breeches, and had she not felt his cool, clammy palm on hers––she may have found his visage relaxed and peaceful.

The lump in her throat choked her, rising and expanding until sobs broke free on their own.

"No, no, no––Thorin?" Tears escaped her eyes. "No, don't leave me. Don't––don't––" Her stuttering voice was compressed into a desperate whine. She forced herself to be as quiet as possible. They were still in danger from the orcs.

Hem felt for Thorin's pulse. It was still there. But she did not know how long it would remain.

Suddenly, a clamour rose outside. Her grip on his coat tightened, her body tense as a fox trap.

Screeches, weapons on armour, howling of wargs, voices of men and dwarves, outrage, hysterics, and after a few moments––nothing.

Carefully, Hemery untangled herself from Thorin, reluctantly leaving the warmth of his company, and peaked out through the dirty glass.

The streets were empty. Could she venture out to look for help? She turned the idea over in her mind when she noticed something glinting in the dirt.

Thorin's sword.

Hemery cursed. How could she have left it there? Granted, she had been fairly occupied with taking shelter at the time. But she could go get it now; she could protect them with a sword. Now they had nothing.

As silently as possible, Hemery exited the stable. The cold air assaulted her cruelly, as if the world itself had become dangerous and unhospitable during this night. Swiftly, she ran across the yard, picking up the sword. It was heavy, but with two hands, she had no problem wielding it. She could tell it was elf made and therefore lighter than any other kind of blade of equal size.

Without examining it further, she turned, scanning her surroundings. Where had everyone gone? Were the men and dwarves defeated? Were the orcs raiding the temple at that very moment, butchering children and old folks in droves? Hemery's heart clenched.

Like wraiths, more orcs crawled out of the darkness toward her. Fear trickled down her spine like ice water. Absently, she reflected that Dwalin should have taught her stealth techniques as well as defence training.

She could not return to the stables and lead them straight to Thorin. She had to draw them off, perhaps manage to slip away to hide somewhere, or come across some of her allies. But she could not leave Thorin alone. Surely, someone must have survived. Or had they not? The thought threatened to drown her. Her breaths grew shallow as the orcs crept nearer, in no hurry to kill her. Perhaps they liked a bit of sport between slaughtering children.

Anger clutched her chest in an icy fist. She raised Thorin's sword slowly, preparing herself to swing it, getting as sense of the blade as a tool to be used. _Trust yourself. Rely on your training. Keep moving. _She was not going to make it easy for them.

"How much do you value your life?" she hissed through her teeth, as much to herself as to the orcs.

They came at her one and one. Her sword had a longer reach, and the orcs employed little strategy when it came to blocking. Hemery used their forceful, head-on, berserker fighting style against them, channeling their own strength and speed as momentum for her strikes. But they were too many; she could never catch her breath. Too late, she realised that was their main strategy.

Her arms and legs burned from exertion when she at last failed to dodge a blow. She countered with the sword to avoid the orc's sharp blade, but the orc was too strong, and she was thrown off her feet.

Her lungs dispelled air at the hard impact. Temporarily paralysed, she fully expected something sharp to hit her any moment.

But nothing did. The orc was distracted, backing away suddenly. Then a strong, hoarse voice cried out in attack, the kind of sound that makes your blows stronger and your opponent weaker. Hem recognised that voice.

Rolling over, Hemery watched as Vannur cut down the orc with their own technique––explosive power aimed forward. Surprised, the remaining orcs were hesitant to advance, circling the females like foxes waiting for a chance to bite at a deer's hindquarters. They would not wait forever.

Vannur pulled Hemery to her feet with one hand.

"You faced worse odds in the assembly today, Miss Skinner. Don't tell me you've given up already?"

Hemery could not help but bark a short laugh. Leave it to dwarves to find the humour in dire circumstances.

"I'd rather wrestle orcs than bureaucrats any day," Hem replied, keeping up the charade while struggling to take control of her breathing.

"That's the spirit." Hem could hear the grim smile in Vannur's voice, though they stood back to back, daring the orcs to come closer.

Hemery registered movement on the roof above them. An orc was about to come down right ontop of them, but before he could jump at them, he was shot by an arrow, falling face first into the mud.

Hemery whipped her head around to see a squadron of dwarves on horseback approaching. The archer was at the front.

A lump formed in Hemery's throat.

It was Kíli. And Dwalin rode next to him.


End file.
